Lost and Broken
by jammyjamfan
Summary: He showed me that he controlled her. That Jane was his. That he could control the lines, the directions, the path. She held me so tight. Her right hand holding my shoulder and her left hand around my throat. Her eyes vacant and her body still and stiff. There was no emotion only blind obedience. "She is mine Maura. If you want to keep her it will cost you everything you have"
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone. So I wanted to write this story but in such an unusual way that it is more like life than just a story. A little bit messy and confusing. And hopefully memorable. So plz let me know your thoughts about it. I may re-write it as a regular story depending on your feedback. :)

This is a sequel to 'Cold and Lost', although the character relationship has changed dramatically, but at the same time can be read completely stand-alone.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the R&I characters.

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CHAPTER 1

JUST BLUE

I used to think I knew a lot. Maybe most of it was not as useful in everyday life as I might have liked. On the odd occasion, however, it was. My unusual comments would even help solve a case, and inside I would be smiling like I had won my first ever trophy.

And I think everyone else in my life thought I knew a lot too, they would comment about it with either awe or annoyance, mostly behind my back. Except for her, she always told me to my face, and her eyes would always sparkle at me like we shared a deep secret. I cherished those moments. I miss those moments.

I'm told it was always very easy to make fun of me for my intelligence, my knowledge. So easy to call me weird or quirky or strange. I didn't bother me though, I was used to it anyway. I loved how I could answer any question, outwit any comment, ramble about a topic for hours. I was remembered for this, and no-one could ever truly insult it. And it seemed naturally conclusive both with family and co-workers that it was a part of who I was. It had been a part of my adolescence and years of it I think it defined me as an individual. It was my upbringing, my history, my life, it defined me. It was me.

And I loved it. I thought being the smart one was important, that I was important because of it. And I thought it was the thing that mattered.

But when I died I realized nothing I knew was really important at all.

That day I realized I only knew two things that really really mattered at all.

The first is that life is never fair.

The second is that in the moment I lost my best friend, nothing else in the entire world mattered anymore and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I suppose I should begin at the start of this story even though it isn't really the beginning at all. The beginning of my story was the day I was born. The beginning of our story was the day I met her.

Of course everyone has a story. And the complications we call life is when one or more individual stories encounters another and the paths cross. Our stories are like paint on a canvas.

Every person is just one color. I like to think my color would be blue, it is cool and calm and flows just like water.

As my life marched on I had left my unbroken line of blue across the white canvas. Sometimes, very occasionally wiggly and random, but most of the time it was straight and predictable. In the beginning the blue is lonely and stark in contrast against the background all on its own.

But sometimes there are people's colors are on my canvas too. Less in the beginning but more later on. Sometimes those colors cross over mine causing the wet paint of both colors to blend to create new colors just for a moment or two. Some colors run parallel like they are almost on the same journey only touching briefly on occassion.

My blue after being alone for a long time happened to run alongside another color for some time. I like to think of her color as red.

RED

Beautiful and passionate and bright. Her line was unpredictable and carefree, spiraling and almost never straight. The opposite of mine. I knew the moment I met her she was something amazing.

When I think of her, bravery is the first word I would describe her with. She was loving and strong in every moment. She was a superhero the world would never see. To me she was an enigma. I adored her. Her color was strong and steady and even like it had been painted by a strong steady hand. It never faltered, it was a line you could always depend on.

She was my best friend. She became my best friend. She was everything I never knew I was missing and everything I didn't know I needed. She was my strength when I was weak and I like to think I was there for her when she was alone. She helped me see myself. I felt 10 feet taller just knowing she saw all the things I presumed were my oddities as being remarkable.

She became the centre of my joy.

I could have lived without her of course. I wouldn't have even known their was anything missing if I never knew her. I had survived quite well before I met her. I had Jack when he was in town and I had a successful and prestigious career and I was ridiculously wealthy. I could do what I wanted whenever I wanted.

Until I met her, until I didn't 'want' to live without her.

THE CANVAS

Often we cannot see where or how the colors of our life intertwine with anothers' because we are standing too close to the canvas to really see. It is a very rare thing to step back from the portrait and see the whole picture, the big picture. To see how the many simple lines create a colorful portrait, indescribable in its passion and complexity and uncertainty, so much more wonderful in it's entirety than magic. Lines flow past each other, cross and flow in 3D.

In some places what it creates is beautiful and wonderful and in other places it is messy and ugly and angry. When many many beautiful colors have blended together to make some kind of black brown blob it is harsh and sad. Maybe it was a catastrophie or a trauma. A life changing event for many individuals.

For me, when I was one day able to stand back and take it all in, I could see the red and blue and it was both wonderful and messy. I saw the moments of beauty...and I followed the tango of red and blue across the canvas. In places they flowed like dye in water, in other places they were slightly apart. The wet colors sometimes crossed leaving streaks of purple in their wake.

This story begins after the gap between the two colors became so great, so far apart, until suddenly then turn back on themselves 180 degrees and run straight into each other, crashing, red and blue become an ugly purple splatter, an unavoidable bright puddle on the canvas.

After that only one color emerged from the purple, alone, completely alone. Lost. Not knowing which way to go anymore. It had circled around and around and around the purple puddle seemingly endlessly, it was alone and lost and searching.

The other color had vanished completely. It had stopped in the puddle and died there.

I hated it.

I hated purple now.

I had wanted to save her and instead I had broken her. I could see it so clearly in the portrait, it was as clear as day. It screamed out at me painfully like a mistake that couldn't ever be fixed. I could see it, my heart hurt, every fibre of my being hurt.

If I could go back in time and change anything it would be that our stories never ever crossed in the first place. I would give up the amazing beautiful journey we had had together if I could only avoid the devastating end. If the red and blue never ever crossed then there would be no purple and if there was no purple then this horrible story would not exist at all. There would be no pain, no confusion, no heartbreak. There would be no loss because you cannot loose something you never had.

And she would be ok.

There would never be any purple.

She was my everything and yet I wish we had never met.

RED AND BLUE

Before red had met blue something bad had happened to red. Scalpels through the palms of hands. I imagine red was erratic on the canvas then. After years and counseling the consequences were more unbelievable than anyone could imagine. She had been Mind-controlled.

We only knew because she had come to my house in the middle of the night after wandering for hours in the rain. She was cold and lost and confused and I had sought help for her from a colleague.

Had she not come we might never have known what red had endured.

It had taken time but eventually everything had returned to normal. Her nightmares had stopped, and the questions had stopped too. I wondered then as I do now if it is because I didn't have the answers for her, the answers she so badly needed. Our relationship had suffered for awhile, it was to be expected, then we found a safe place to be, we stayed friends, or went back to being 'just friends' and nothing more. It was fine. It seemed fine.

Things would never be as they were before but then they could also have been far worse.

For all my knowledge in psychology and human emotions I was blind to what was happening. I'm not sure Jane every fully recovered from the knowledge that someone had tampered with her mind. That she had been mind-controlled and that no-one could say for sure what had or had not happened. She confessed once that the more she thought about it the more it bothered her. That was 1 year ago.

If only I had taken the time to talk to her about it, to be there for her, to try to understand how she felt, how she hurt. I was a terrible friend at the time. She had brought it up during a very busy day where I had 4 autopsies lined up to be completed before the end of it. I was tired and busy. I was selfish. I regret to say I used a very cliche line, I told her to 'just stop thinking about it then'. Maybe we wouldn't have grown apart for as long as we did if I had just stopped and taken the time to really talk to her. I didn't have the answers, I am not sure there was a right response but I should have taken the time. I don't know what caused her to bring it up so unexpectedly, I should have asked, I should have seen how much it bothered her, I should have been more attentive.

Red and blue weren't as close anymore. There was a lot less purple as the two colors never crossed like they once had. But then something changed.

Then it was a Wednesday and a homicide was under investigation. Everyone was working very hard to solve it as usual. And at noon we met at the cafe for lunch which we always did if we could both spare the time. Everything was like it always was. Nothing seemed to be out of place.

Except that night she was taken.

Red and blue separated. Blue couldn't find red on the canvas anymore.

The search would never have ended, every resource would have gone to find her, every asset, every dollar. I was on the news pleading for her return from whoever took her, my puffy eyes and bleeding mascara making me unrecognizable to everyone, but I didn't care. I offered her kidnappers nothing short of the universe to get her back. I offered rewards to the public for any information. I had the most expensive private investigators chasing every possible lead and I did not sleep properly, or possibly at all for weeks. But I know now that nothing would have helped or changed anything. Thats the thing about hindsight...You have to have it to know you needed it but you cannot have it until it's too late need it anymore. It is only useful once it is no longer of use.

So the red was gone and the blue was alone.

The blue became complacent and it's line became erratic.

The red was gone.

Eighty six days, ten hours and seventeen minutes of absolute painful separation.

Life wasn't fair.

All the stupid, once useless, facts in my head only made me sick to my stomach.

That vital clues may be found in the first few hours after someone disappears.

That the majority of missing people are found in the first 24 hours.

That every year about 1,800 missing people are found dead.

That after a month those that aren't found dead will probably never be found.

That medical examiners and coroner's offices in the U.S. hold more than 40,000 sets of unidentified remains.

That there are as many as 100,000 active 'missing persons' cases in the U.S. at any given time.

That the number of sociopaths in the USA is about 4% and there are no real statistics on how many of that 4% are active serial killers.

After eighty six days, ten hours and eighteen minutes there was nothing.

We had no clues. We didn't know if she was alive. We didn't know anything except the vibrant personality was gone and our lives had turned upside down.

Blue was alone and wouldn't let the colors of co-workers and friends close.

Eighty six days, ten hours and eighteen minutes of the most horrible pain a person can endure.

Blue missed red.

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to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

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After eighty six days, ten hours and eighteen minutes there was nothing.

A minute later.

Eighty six days, ten hours and nineteen minutes, there was a something.

There was a ransom and instructions for her return.

The blue line leapt for joy.

The red paint was still on the canvas somewhere.

Eighty six days, ten hours and nineteen minutes

It made no sense that the demand was so long after her disappearance. Why wait so long you ask. But no-one thought about that at the time. Why would they, why would I. In that moment I was looking at an image of my best friend, alive. She looked malnourished and weak and distant. Her face was bruised and small cuts across it and her eyes were deep dark hollows.

But she was alive

Red was not gone forever

My heart hurt with something new. A tiny little piece of hope pierced through it. It was more painful than glass to the skin. Fear, joy, hope, confusion and happiness at the same time.

Blue stopped moving for a moment.

The possibility of getting her back was suddenly very very real.

From nothing to everything.

That's why "Why now?" was the last question on anyones mind, "Hope" was the only universal thought.

My heart broke the day she disappeared, and as unscientifically impossible as it was, it broke a little more that day I saw that image of my brave and selfless friend's face looking like she had been through hell and back.

Red wasn't gone. Maybe broken but not gone.

I didn't remember that the minutes following that felt like hours or that I sobbed or that I had to be restrained by several officers. I didn't remember screaming and arguing. I didn't remember demanding that I pay the ransom myself.

I only remember holding her in my arms again.

She was alive. Red was alive.

She whispered something weakly in my ear. Something about being so happy to see me. I couldn't respond because my throat was painfully closed with emotion. I was trying to just breathe.

Red was right beside blue.

I was holding her tight, I felt her warm tears dripping on my shoulder. I felt her bones sharp and jagged through her skin. I felt her quivering.

Red and blue were together again.

I hated the unkindness of the world for taking her away, for damaging her, for the pain it had caused us all. I hated whoever had taken her and hurt her.

Red was back.

I wanted to keep her safe and never let her be lost again. Hold her forever. Never let her out of my sight.

Red was so close to blue that it looked like a line of purple between the two.

We were blureurple.

It was a slow physical recovery for her but I stayed by her side, I didn't want to leave her.

She ate like she may never see food again. And her hands shook like she was constantly nervous. The water washed off her was black in the tub and she looked white against it. The cuts and bruises healed. The dimness in her eyes was replaced with a familiar sparkle. She smiled when she took her first steps completely unassisted. She gained weight and her dimples became softer and her protruding bones slowly disappeared along with all traces of her disappearance. And she again joked about bunny pancakes and yoga.

Emotionally she was fine, like nothing had happened.

Side by side were our colors. A line unfaltering. Parallel. Blue, red & some purple.

I never ever ever imagined that after all this...that It would again all be destroyed, that one color would stop altogether. That the two would cease their journey together. That the colors would be separated. I was so sure that the worst was over.

I was wrong. I knew nothing.

BLUREURPLE

"She remembers nothing, Doctor Isles. Even regressive therapy has had absolutely no effect."

"That can't be, she was gone for almost three months, she must remember something, anything."

It was a battle that no one expected. Usually the victims can identify their captor. Reveal the trauma they experienced. Or remember some parts of it. Maybe they don't want to talk about it but to actually blank out the entire experience completely was improbable.

The therapist knew more than me, but I thought I knew better than her. She said it was either a form of amnesia from the trauma or that it was borderline personality disorder. That her mind may have blocked it out because it was too traumatic to deal with. I decided the therapist was just negligent, that she couldn't do her job competently and that Jane obviously didn't trust her. She had been chosen for her impeccable qualifications and world-renowned breakthroughs in the field of psychotherapy, but she didn't know Jane like I did, that I was sure of. What else could it be...

I thought I knew better than them all. Blue knew red and blue would find out where red had been.

"What do you remember Jane?"

"Arggg. Maura please. You've asked a hundred times already. I keep telling you...We had lunch together, then I finished work for the day and then went home, watched a movie and went to bed. Then I woke up in this hospital. Why won't you let this go?"

Her voice was gravelly and irritated. Her lips were tight and her forehead creased in a deep frown. She rubbed her hands together harshly like it was the only way she could stay in control.

"Because you were gone for months Jane. Months! There must be something. Please Jane...you can tell me."

She chewed her thumb nail and glared at me.

She didn't or she couldn't tell me, and it hurt me. It hurt that she didn't trust me. And she was angry at me that I didn't believe her. And now that I understand why, it is too late.

I am not that smart after all. I didn't read her body language...but worse than that...If I had stopped and really thought about it for a moment the pieces would have easily fitted together. If I had reflected on what had happened that last time Jane couldn't remember something was because she had been programmed to forget. It should have been obvious to me. I have a high IQ. But I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and wanting to know where she had been and too busy thinking I knew best that I didn't see it. I didn't see it at all.

She didn't remember anything.

Red didn't know where red had been.

RED IS FOR RAGE

Jet.

If thought's could kill he would have died the most excruciating pain one hundred million times over.

But thoughts and looks and anger cannot kill. Here he was alive.

Jane was only just home, physically recovered and healed from malnutrition and torture after being abducted and just been released from hospital...and here he was...Jet...re-emerged.

This can't be, this isn't fair.

Now I knew where the ransom had gone. Now I knew where Jane had gone.

Now I knew we should have asked 'why did the demand for a ransom come so late'.

Now we could speculate what had occurred in those three months. Now we knew why Jane didn't remember anything. And I felt like my stomach had folded in on itself and crawled up into my throat and was strangling my voice from inside. The room blurred slightly and I was beyond light-headed, I was dark-headed with rage.

I knew where Red had been.

Red had not just been been beaten and starved

I heard the words son-of-a-bitch before it registered that I had spoken it myself. I felt the pain in my palms from clenching my hands. My jaw would hurt for days from clenching it so tightly.

This evil man had already once abused his powers and had tried to use Jane as a sort of super soldier. He had been her counsellor when she was dealing with the traumas of the serial killer that had put scalpels through the palms of her hands. He had used that trauma during his time with her to create an alter he could control. He had then commanded her to follow his orders. But he had failed his mission. Jane had been too strong or the programming too weak and she gotten free back then.

But now I knew that Jet had held her for 24 hours a day for almost three months. Whatever he had done originally was much worse now. He would have held her until he knew he could control her for certain this time. That she wouldn't be able to break free. He had to have fully broken her.

It had taken three months.

Red was not the same.

He had sent her back to us for a reason.

Was I about to find out what that reason was.

Here he was, standing on my doorstep, about to unleash his plan. Here he was with that psychopathic smirk on his face.

"Have you ever taken the time to analyze just how many things in life are designed to deceive us and how many things we have been taught, that just aren't so?" He spoke like everything he said was as heavy as silver and as precious as gold.

I stared at him like he was dirt.

He didn't care.

His question was some sort of distraction, or game. It was hinting at something only he would understand.

He was just like Hoyt.

I wanted to kill him.

Jane was behind me, she had heard the doorbell too. I had answered the door but I had not returned to the kitchen. She had come to find me. She didn't even recognize him.

She looked confused at my expression of anger. I became confused.

How could she not know Jet. How could she not remember him.

How could she not know Him. Yet it should have been obvious to me.

She moved towards me, to make sure I was alright. Fear in her eyes and worry across her forehead. Her lips starting to open to ask what was the matter. Her body emanated care towards me and she stood partially in front of me to defend me from him, protecting me against the thing that was a threat to her, the man she could only assume must be a threat me.

I wonder what she thought was happening.

I never found out.

He spoke two words to her and she was gone. Jane was gone.

He showed me that he controlled her. That the red line was his. That he could control the lines, the directions, the path.

She held me so tight. Her right hand holding tightly my shoulder, fingers painfully digging into my shoulder and her left hand around my throat. I couldn't move. Her eyes were vacant and her body still and stiff. There was no emotion only blind obedience.

I could feel her slender fingers tighten slowly around my neck. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I tried to swallow but couldn't. I could feel her strength and knew fighting was futile, I could only injure myself by struggling so I stayed still and stared into her cold hard eyes until my own started to secrete lacrimal fluid. I couldn't control it.

There wasn't enough pressure to render me unconscious but enough that I started to feel light-headed. Another 15 seconds and I would loose consciousness.

Deep down I somehow believed she wouldn't kill me. Jane wouldn't. Jane couldn't. Jane was in there somewhere. She would let me go.

Time moved slower than I ever remember it moving.

It felt like my face was swollen and I needed air. I was about to panic.

I stared into her eyes pleading her to stop with my own.

But Jane was gone.

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...to be continued...

Thank you for the reviews. keep them coming.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters

Warning: May contain Mind control triggers. Proceed with caution.

Thank you to those that review and comment. I REALLY appreciate it. Apologies for the wait for this chapter. I cannot believe how fast the week has gone.

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CHAPTER 3

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 _I stared into her eyes pleading her to stop._

 _But Jane was gone._

Her grip was intense and frightening.

Every second felt like a hundred.

Every heartbeat pounded in my skull.

Jet finally spoke.

"Isn't it incredible. To have total control over a mind. The ability to make a person your puppet."

I couldn't reply.

"Joseph Mengele was a genius really. His goal was to find out how one could make an individual do things he would never do by his free will. Years of experiments later and before you stands a perfectly obedient slave."

He looked at Jane with a sick look of possessive appreciation.

"She has no free will Maura. She will obey me. She is mine. But..."

He smiled at me. Not a real smile but a smile of absolute power.

"If you want her, if you want to keep her, it will cost you everything you have."

I can feel the world around me slowly dimming like the last light on the horizon a dusk.

"Liquidate your assets and give everything you have to me and I will let you keep her."

He spoke with control and certainty. His lips curled up in glee.

What was she...a possession? I could feel the anger course through me. It kept me conscious.

"Think about it. I will be in touch."

Then he turned and left as quickly as he had come.

And she released me and walked back into the kitchen without looking back. As if nothing had happened.

I stood there catching my breath. My throat hurt and It was painful to swallow. The posterior of my neck ached and so did my head. After a quick self examination of symptoms I was fairly sure there was no permanent or life threatening damage.

It was a message. I had received it.

I stayed in the doorway in my thoughts. My feelings shifting with them. Anger. Panic. Fear.

The twisted knots in my stomach refused to leave. They wouldn't until it was all over.

He had taken Jane's free will. The one thing that every person should have. The right of every man, woman and child's to possess. The thing even God would not take from us.

Free will.

Freedom.

Her will was his will and it terrified me.

RED TAPE

She smiled warmly at me and offered to make me a cup of tea as I walked back into the kitchen. The word surreal does not begin to cover the situation. She noticed me rubbing my neck and asked if I was ok. I had to force a smile and nod.

She studied me for a moment before she turned back to making the tea.

"Did you see who was at the door, Jane?"

My voice sounds strained from the bruising of muscles around my throat but she doesn't comment.

She looks at me puzzled, then the corners of her mouth turn up like it's a test or a joke.

"The door Maura. Really?"

Her voice is laced with humor

I nod "You didn't hear the doorbell?"

Her smile vanishes and she shakes her head, no. "Who was it?"

I study her face but every micro expression indicates she is being sincere, "You didn't wonder where I went?"

She looks down at her feet and shakes her head as if she is clearing a bad memory or trying to make something in her mind fall into it's correct place.

"I...I guess I kinda blanked out for a minute or something." She says biting her lip.

 _A blank spot. Where their is no recollection of what happened when another personality takes over._

Then she looks up at me again, her eyes questioning. It's that same look she used to give me when things that should make sense did not. I forgot that I hadn't missed that look.

I wanted to talk to her, to tell her what Jet had done, to hold her before she was gone again. Instead I stood facing her, I took her hand and held it against my heart and looked into her chocolate brown quizzical eyes just wishing I could tell her everything without saying a word. I could tell she wanted to pull her hand away but she didn't. She waited patiently, I guess she could tell I had something important to tell her.

I tried to speak but no words came out.

There was so much in her eyes, gentleness, love, worry. And I knew she would be devastated at what had been done to her...at what she had just done.

There was a chance the knowledge itself could cause her mind to enter another personality. Just to protect itself. I didn't know enough about it. But I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk losing her.

"I would do anything for you Jane."

It was all I could manage.

She pulled me close and hugged me. And then we just stood closely and awkwardly, cheek to cheek. I could feel her zygomaticus major muscle drawing upward and outward. I could image her smile without seeing it.

"I know" she responded. "So long as it's legal right?"

Her soft laugh tickled my ear. These were conversations she would usually avoid. She wasn't being facetious though, or sarcastic. She was reading how serious I was and in her own gentle way accepting it with as much grace as she was able.

My mind began to race with motives, outcomes, theories.

None made sense.

I would give everything I had for Jane but he might still hurt her regardless, still control her. Maybe keep using her anyway. He didn't say I would get to keep her _alive_ , or keep her as Jane and not that terrifying alter. Or worse, he could take everything I had financially and still use Jane for his own purposes and I wouldn't have the means to stop him, to protect her.

I had no guarantee of her safety or freedom.

I didn't trust him. Couldn't trust him.

He was a despicable, evil person. Who was I kidding, he wasn't a person at all, no human would do what he had to another human.

He was a monster.

I had to come up with a plan.

I had to stop him before he could hurt Jane again.

Before he could hurt her physically or emotionally.

He could take her anytime and we both knew it. I had to stop him.

So I started to formulate a plan and the days came and went as if there was no deadline. The days departed as if there was no event looming that would forever change us both. No collision of the two parallel lines of red and blue that had separated and come back together.

Life moved on unabated.

RED FLAG

It was only a few days later in my lab. Homicide by strangulation. Not mine fortunately. Incidentally I was using a black light to look for evidence on the victims clothing. Jane walked in and stood close to the examination table in her usual stance, arms crossed in front of her and resting on her belt. The Uv light lit up her forearms and the phosphorus ink of a butterfly lit up green on her skin in the darkness. It was just dark enough in the room that she didn't see my reaction not that she was focused on me anyway.

Using as much subtlety as possible I shone the black light over the rest of her exposed skin but there was nothing else glaringly unusual.

"When did you get a tattoo?"

"I don't have a tattoo."

Her eyes continue scan the clothing between us on the table unperturbed.

"On your arm."

She looked up at me quizzically before looking down at her arms. Her eyes grew wide and she moved her arm closer into the light to study the design.

I turn the UV light off and the butterfly vanishes

Her face says everything she cannot say.

The butterfly. The representation of the Monarch Programme. Branded...owned...theirs.

RED HERRING

I had tried to work out several scenarios but I didn't know his agenda.

What was his goal...other than taking everything _I_ had.

Why did he want everything I had. Why did he want it to cost me.

It seemed improbable that he would abduct and mind-control someone, holding them for three months, just for money.

 _Money._

He could have originally asked for a larger ransom. He wouldn't have even had to touch Jane and I would have given whatever he asked.

So unless something monumental had changed since Jane's release...It had to be bigger.

Personal.

Maybe revenge.

Maybe he was angry with me and this was his retaliation. Again why would he need to keep Jane for three months to accomplish that.

And what had I done to him.

Maybe he was just a madman. A psychopath. To control a human being to their own ends and enjoy to watch those who care about that person suffer as well. He seemed more intelligent than a control freak. He was most likely CIA so he would probably have a directive to follow. Was Jane to complete a mission. If so what did it have to do with me.

So many questions. No answers.

It wasn't until the following day that I got my first real clue into Jet's agenda.

Jane and I were making lunch in the kitchen chatting about the latest case. It was a nice distraction from the millions of thoughts that had raced un-relentlessly through my mind day and night since Jet had shown up on the doorstep.

Everything felt normal until Jane spoke suddenly.

"I'm going to kill her."

I dropped the pan I was holding. The clunk echoed around the kitchen but neither of us jumped. My heart sped up and I held my breath waiting.

It was strange. Her voice was strange. She stared at the wall like she was in a trance. Her arms were held stiffly by her side.

I watched her for the longest moment before I spoke. "Jane?"

"I'm going to kill Maura."

My muscles became tense. I didn't move. I felt like an antelope standing before a lion. I was waiting for her to attack me again. I was scared to run. Scared to move.

She didn't move, didn't blink. She just stared at the wall in front of her without focusing on it.

Then her voice changed back to her own but she stayed in the same position.

"I won't let you hurt her. Leave her alone."

Her voice shifted back again, the other voice was impossibly deeper, and venomous. The words drawn out like they might have been said in slow motion.

"You can't stop me. In fact you can kill her yourself. Then I will have you do things far far worse. You are my little puppet detective now."

"No. I'm not your puppet." Jane screamed it and for a moment I thought she might attack the wall she had been staring so intently at. Her balled up fists shaking uncontrollably.

I wanted to reach out to her. I wanted to take her in my arms. But I was afraid.

"Jane"

I had just witnessed my best friend either have a conversation with herself or she was recalling a conversation she had been apart of. I hoped for the later.

She blinked a few times and looked quickly down at her feet. Her body started to relax. Her features softened.

"Jane?"

"Yeah Maura?"

Her voice. Her face. Jane. She was back.

I called a friend of mine. Hoffsteader. He had spent many years looking into and helping trauma based mind control victims. He had helped Jane once before.

We discussed remote mind control. He said it is possible with some kind of new DARPA technology, I wished he had said it wasn't possible at all. I felt so vulnerable. I wanted to be as far from her as possible, but I couldn't bear to leave her unprotected.

Hoffsteader said however, he believed something had triggered in Jane a memory or another personality. He told me of a live interview on television where the words 'holy ghost' were spoken and Al Rocker's Mind Control programming had 'glitched'. He reminded me of some alice in wonderland and wizard of oz triggers.

I couldn't think of anything I had said that might have been a trigger word. The television and radio had not been on. I wasn't willing to repeat some of the words I had said during our conversation that in order to test the words as potential triggers.

I had been babbling on the topic of bluebirds relating to a clue of the latest case. My usual knowledge I loved to share with the person who appeared to love to listen.

I would have to be very careful and aware from that point on of what was said.

Dr. Hofstede believed it was very likely that Jet may have told one of Jane's alters his plan not expecting that alter to either recall it or to be directly activated.

 _"_ _In a nutshell, pain and trauma can split the human mind with walls of amnesia as a survival mechanism known as dissociation. One single slave theoretically can own thousands of alters, whereby each alter usually believes to be the only one and knows nothing about the existence of the others. To switch victims from one alter to another triggers are used, and these have to be inconspicuous in order to avoid public detection. Theoretically, any kind of stimulus can be utilized as a trigger. The only thing that matters, is that the slave has to notice it."_

He suggested I take Jane to his facility to attempt to de-programme her.

And I would. Soon. Right now I felt I had the upper hand and I needed to use it to stop Jet.

He wanted me dead. He was going to kill me...or have Jane kill me.

I had to stop him.

Whatever the cost.

If only I had known the cost I might not have been so eager.

* * *

to be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Please read the note at the bottom when you have read this chapter. Thank you and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters whether or not they are acting characteristically ;)

* * *

CHAPTER 4

* * *

SEEING RED

Jane flipped out when we tied her up. By we I mean Korsak and myself.

She screamed bloody murder and the look of betrayal in her eyes was the last one I saw. The last look she ever gave me. It was hurt. It was betrayal. I hurt her. I saw it and I wondered if she could ever forgive me.

That might be half of what I regret. That the last exchange of looks between us ever was that one. The last visual memory of her locked in my mind would be that I had hurt her.

The other half was not telling her the plan at all. I figured if Jet somehow found out he could use it against me, against us. Instead not telling her may have been my downfall. I think it broke her completely.

Tying Jane up took her out of the equation. At the very least he couldn't use her.

Earplugs. So he couldn't trigger her. I had only seen one of Jane's alters once before and I never wanted too again.

My biggest fear was that he would trigger her and then we would be unable to undo it. I didn't know if it was even possible. If he could leave her in a trance forever. I didn't know enough to know what could happen.

It would be unacceptable to loose her and I couldn't keep her tied up and hidden away forever. I had to face this head on.

Weapons. Had them.

Backup. Had it.

Plan. Had several.

Still, I didn't feel ready.

 _"_ _What did they want me to do?"_

I can still hear her asking me from last time. Her million questions I couldn't answer. I can still hear the croaky quiver in her voice when she asked. _"But...why 'me'?"_ I didn't have the answers. Only my assumptions, they weren't enough.

 _"_ _What happens if they do it again?"_

I closed my eyes. I can do this. I have to.

Jet arrived as if on cue and immediately saw Jane restrained. He looked at me and he knew I was never going to just let him walk away with everything I had on the chance he might leave me with her.

He knew that I would fight for her. He was angry, his micro expressions gave him away.

I moved to stand in the pathway between him and Jane. I really didn't know who he wanted to hurt but it didn't matter. Right now Jane was unable to protect herself.

I asked him why.

His eyes became slits and his top lip scowled at me.

I had theories but needed clarity. Closure maybe. I am not sure for who.

He looked past me at Jane. I could see her in my peripheral struggling against her restraints. Then Jet laughed. A laugh like he had won anyway. A victorious cackle that echoed through my being. My heart skipped a beat and I was suddenly unsure of everything.

How could he have won already. What had he won.

I swallowed heavily. It felt like I just lost my queen in a chess game.

His face glowed in victory as he finally stopped laughing leaving a very smug look on his face.

Tachypnea, tachycardia, hyperhidrosis...I am sure he could read the fear indicators rising in my body regardless of how hard I was trying to disguise them. I am sure the knowledge of it boosted his ego.

What was I doing playing this game. Did I know what I was doing at all.

He could read the fear in my face, bluff or not he knew I was worried.

Should I be. I suddenly wasn't sure of anything.

I wanted to go back and do it again, do it all differently. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea.

Then he spoke.

"She told me a lot about you, you know. Her sweet _sweet_ Maura. She cried out for you at times too. She won't remember. She won't remember any of it. I never realized how much of an effect you had on her until she broke free last time. That won't happen again."

He looks past me at Jane and smiled. He looked at her like she is a valuable item he is proud to own. To possess. I hated him for his coveting of her.

"You could have demanded a larger ransom. You wouldn't have had to traumatize her and control her to get more money, to get anything from me. What do you want?"

"When she didn't complete her mission last time I almost lost my job. I was told to fix it. And I _have_ fixed it. It is my greatest creation."

I knew from the way he was watching her that would never have given her up. For anything. It had been a ploy. But why.

"You never planned to set her free even if I paid you."

My own voice is shaky and full of fear. I hope he cannot hear it.

"Very astute aren't you Maura. You are quite right. Money is not my agenda. I did think bankrupting you would be a nice touch though. Watching you suffer for your past interferences would have been the icing on the cake."

"Suffer?"

"Still, you have to pay for what you did and you will." He half grins like the thought of it alone is pleasant. "You humiliated me. You had more control than I did then."

"She is a person. She is strong willed. I didn't do anything."

"Admittedly the time I was able to work with her at the time wasn't enough. They knew that. Children are always better subjects, such fragile minds. So easy to fragment, to confuse, to manipulate. But she had a history of disassociation, it is in her DNA. It is genetic. She had already created alters to survive before we even found her. She had PTSD. She was the perfect candidate."

"What did you do to her?"

He clicks his tongue like a scolding "It doesn't matter anymore. She is mine. She will do what I want."

Then he smirks at me.

I have to hold myself back from lunging at him. I would love nothing more than to rip that smug look off his ugly face.

"What is your agenda?"

He doesn't hesitate in his answer "My goal was to prove I could do it. That I could completely control her. That I could make her hurt you."

"Why?"

His eyes burn into mine as he contemplates his response.

And he answers with a shrug. "Why not."

"I cannot suffer anymore than I have already and I'm sure neither can Jane with what you have already done to her."

He eyes me up like inedible scraps.

"Don't be so sure about that _sweet_ Maura."

I shudder at his words. At his tone. He makes me sick.

"When Jane finds out what she has done then we will see if you are right. Lets see if she can't suffer any more."

"What is she going to do?"

"Jane is going to _kill you_."

REDRUM

Had I thought it possible I might not have laughed.

I had planned for this. I had made that impossible.

Jane was restrained. Korsak and Frankie were ready. Frankie was standing off to the side ready to launch into action.

I was sure we had thought of everything.

How was he planning to get Jane to kill me. It was a ludicrous thought.

Jet started to walk towards me, or towards Jane behind me. It had begun.

I saw Frankie going in for the tackle. Jet fought back and screamed at Jane. It sounded like jumbled english. Maybe code words. I turned towards her to gauge if there was any effect and realized she was almost free of her restraints. I had to decide which way to run. Jane or Jet.

Left or right.

I panicked.

I froze.

I didn't move.

I could see the fight between Frankie and Jet was getting out of control.

We wanted Jet alive. I wanted him interrogated so I would know every detail of the three months he had held Jane. I wanted to know who he worked for.

But it looked like Frankie had other plans for him. I looked like Frankie wanted to break his face. I didn't blame him.

"No" I screamed

"Frankie" I screamed

It all happened so fast.

I ran towards Jet and Frankie yelling not to kill Jet.

Jet had overpowered Frankie and so I charged Jet instead. I could try to knock him over.

I was so angry at him but that might not have been my smartest decision.

Suddenly everything went black.

It felt like seconds later. It could have been minutes.

When I opened my eyes Jet and Jane were standing over me and Jane was aiming my gun at me. The previous look she had held me with of betrayal was replaced by a complete lack of expression.

Again.

I have no idea what the reaction written on my face said but Jet smiled at it.

I swallowed and it tasted metallic. Blood. The side of my face hurt.

Frankie was still lying on the ground.

Jet had been saying something to Jane, I couldn't make it out. He had that same smile of glee on his face. Victory. Power. The one I really wanted to remove.

Where was Korsak.

Only one little thing had gone wrong. Somehow. Life is uncertain and the best laid plans don't always go accordingly.

So close.

"Kill her"

His voice echo's around my head as I looked into the cold hard barrel of the gun with eyes of cold icy steel just behind it. Her finger tightened on the trigger. There was a little flicker of a spark deep inside the barrel followed by a puff of smoke.

I close my eyes and hear the bang.

Red and Blue collide.

It hurt. It felt like my chest exploded. I felt the wetness soaking through my designer shirt.

He said something to Jane and then I could hear her screaming. I hear _Jane_ screaming. I hear the metallic clang of the gun dropping to the pavement. I hear the shuffle of feet moving hurriedly close to me. I hear the dull thud of flesh and bone crashing against asphalt. I feel arms around my neck. I feel hair against my cheek and breath on my neck. I can hear Jet laughing. His victorious evil laugh. I wait for him to take her away but he doesn't.

"You killed her Jane. You killed your sweet sweet Maura."

She is sobbing. She is not paying any attention to him. She is not attacking him. She is not stopping him. She is beside me and she is beside herself.

Purple.

I want to move but it hurts to breathe and her body weight is bearing down on top of me. I hear Jet walk away from us, he left her. I don't understand.

I try to touch her, move her, let her know I am ok but she is heavy and pinning me down. I try to call out "Jane" but it is barely a hoarse whisper. Then the weight slowly shifts off me and I try to speak again, "I'm ok Jane."

Sirens blaring and I hear Jet's muffled screaming as they arrest him. I can tell they gaged him. For Jane's sake. I can hear the echoing of shuffling feet echoing through the ground against my temple. The clinking of handcuffs. The reading of rights. The slamming of car doors.

Then I hear the familiar shuffle of Korsak's heavy set gait walking towards us getting louder and deeper.

They stop.

"It's ok Jane. Maura is fine."

A pause

"Jane?"

His voice sounds like a concerned parent comforting a small child. I don't yet understand why.

Korsak pulls me to sit up and I can only groan. No one tells you blanks at almost point blank range will hurt quite that much. Even with a vest on. I can already tell the bruises will be dark purple. I try to cough and the ache shoots across my ribs to the back of my head and I groan again. But I open my eyes. And that's when I understand.

I understand that I know nothing.

Purple splatter.

Jane lies unmoving in the fetal position in a puddle of blood. My fake blood. She is covered in it. She is covered in dark red. It is over her hands, arm, chest and stomach. It has soaked into her side, back and sleeves where she is lying. It is smeared across her face as well. I shake her gently by her shoulder but she is stiff and doesn't respond.

"Jane, it's ok, I'm ok sweetie. It's over."

I shake her harder.

"Please Jane"

Nothing.

I try to pull her towards me but she resists. She stays in her rigid and safe spot.

Red doesn't move.

"Jane please. Everything is ok. I am ok. You didn't do anything."

I plead. My voice cracks. The fear rises inside me.

She doesn't hear me. She doesn't move. She doesn't respond at all.

"No, no, no, no, no , no"

I get as close to her as I can and try to hold her. I scream at her as loud as I can. I plead and yell and plead some more.

But she doesn't seem to hear me. I think this because her eyes stay fixed yet unfocused and unblinking looking straight ahead of her into the distance.

 _The mind disassociates from the trauma in order for the person to be able to function._

Red is lost. Red is not functioning.

Her cheeks are still wet with tears shed but she isn't crying anymore. I wipe them away with the pads of my thumbs. She doesn't flinch or blink or shift her eye-line. She shows no emotion.

I lie on the ground facing her so I block her view. Her pupils do not dilate or adjust.

"Jane, Please Jane. I am alright. I am alive."

No response.

Red is broken.

"He was meant to shoot me not you." I whimper but it doesn't help.

Eventually I can't hold back my own tears anymore.

I die inside.

But red...

Red didn't emerge from the purple.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Note: Yeah I know this whole story is written so strangely. Your comments have been showing me that. It was kinda my plan that the story unfolds as understanding comes just as our world changes around us with greater insight and revelation...but I am not quite sure it is working the way I wanted it to :( Time will tell...as will you tell me my wonderful readers. I'm wondering if it's coming across more like someone telling a story very badly, missing main plot points etc...like someone a bit confused or senile...I hope not. The start was slightly deceptive purposely but this chapter hopefully brought understanding. My idea of writing like this is that you , the reader, are part of the journey., that you are walking in Maura's shoes (even though it has been in past tense) that you can hopefully see and feel it from her perspective and understand it deeper from her illustrative analogies. I love your comments, especially that you take the time to write them, please keep them coming :)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

 _Red didn't emerge from the purple._

PURPLE

 _Catatonia. A state of psychogenic motor immobility and behavioral abnormality manifested by stupor._

The day Jane thought I died it was like she died. It almost killed me. I felt dead inside. I wanted to die. I would have given my life to give her back her own.

But nothing could change anything now.

She thought she killed me. The trauma, the thought of it maybe, locked her somewhere inside her own mind. She was trapped within it. Disassociated from reality.

In a daze of pain I had stepped back and took in the canvas as a whole. I evaluated my life.

The vibrant endless colors. The blank spaces. It was unmatched beauty. The people, the lives, the journeys. I saw my story, my once lonely blue line. As I followed it I saw the red appear intrepid from it's own myriad of colors and cross over to the blue. The first glimpse of purple appeared and I loved it. Then they crossed again and again and again; more and more as time went on. Then blue was invited to follow red and enter the myriad of colors as well. Her family, her friends, her colleagues, her story. The red and blue danced along the canvas, they appeared to be happy, content.

Or was I putting human feelings onto lines of paint.

As I followed the lines on the canvas the red and blue parted suddenly, and blue was alone. And red was with another color against her will, a color that was dark and dangerous. I hurt me to remember that time and what might have occurred to her within it.

The blue line had jumped and red returned to it and they blurred together in a crimson and violet rainbow all of its own.

And then finally red pulled away again for just a moment, flying away from blue only to suddenly turn 180 degrees and crash straight back. The purple was dazzling but unexpected. It looked like a galaxy of fairy dust and it was almost beautiful. Almost.

Then blue emerged from it...alone. It was searching, searching for red. Blue circled the purple galaxy, the life changing event, waiting. Waiting and hoping. Searching. Circling. Circling.

Circling.

Blue searched in vain.

* * *

Life

Unpredictable and often cruel

There is no true justice

There is not always relief from suffering

I could see every swirling color that lead us both to that point. That moment. I wanted to wash the blue away from it. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to see that vibrant red dance across the white canvas again. I hated the injustice. My part in it.

 _Guilt. A feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, whether real or imagined._

I couldn't fix it. I knew nothing that could fix it, nothing that could help.

 _In psychological terms, guilt is an emotional state in which one experiences conflict at having done something one believes one should not have done or, conversely, not having done something one believes one should have done. It gives rise to a feeling that does not go away easily, driven by conscience. It is often associated with depression, anxiety, stress and other mental health related problems._

I didn't know anything of value. I didn't know how to draw her out. How to wake her up. How to get her to see me although I was right in front of her.

There was no medication for this. No surgery. No specialist. No treatment. I suddenly didn't really _know_ anything.

The only two things I knew for sure was that life is not fair and that nothing in the world mattered more than my best friend who I couldn't even help.

I felt useless. It felt hopeless.

 _Guilt can sometimes be remedied through a rational cognitive approach, through understanding that the source of the guilty feelings was illogical or irrelevant, through confession, sincere remorse, and repentance, by forgiveness, through the completion of remedial behavior and through punishment._

She could not forgive me. I could not remedy it. The guilt was rational.

With all the knowledge and Intelligence and hours of articles and years of diligent study...I knew nothing that was important at all.

I failed her.

I was not so smart and a high IQ on a test was not at all helpful.

If only blue and red never met.

How different her life would be if I had never been in it.

She was my everything and it had destroyed her.

I had destroyed her.

The only thing that kept me going was the thought that no-one else would try to help her if I was gone. That she could be more harmed. Uncared for. Un-loved. Locked up in a concrete prison.

So I stayed. And every moment I was awake I lived with what I had done.

 _Strength is the ability to go on despite the circumstances_

I had to have enough strength for us both. I had to have. I needed red back

I would do everything I could for her so her mind would bring me back to life.

She was locked somewhere inside her own mind. She was trapped within it.

Jane was catatonic.

If only we had never met.

 _Guilt is venomous and destructive, even more so than physical injuries. Guilt destroys the mind and body slowly and painfully, until all that is left is an empty shell filled with sickness and despair. The poison of guilt slowly eats away at a person's soul. By the time it is noticed, it is often too late to stop its flow._

SAVING RED

It's 7am. The nurses will be in soon.

"Jane, time to get up honey."

Usual routine for a weekday. I pull her arms to sit her up and I stroke her hands warmly. Then I place her hands on her lap so she appears comfortable.

I chat to her like she can hear me, I talk about her family, her treatment, her friends, the outcomes of the latest sporting events and the topics in the most recent medical magazines.

At 7:30 the nurses come in and dress her for the day. They feed her through a tube in her stomach and change her catheter bag.

At 9:30 we will take a stroll in the garden. I push her wheelchair out into the morning sun and watch to see if she turns her face towards its warmth. I try not to feel sad when she doesn't, she never does.

We stop by the pond and I watch the ducks dive to the bottom and then glide back to the surface. They make so much commotion quaking at each other like they are having a loud and boisterous conversation. Sometimes charging each other for no apparent reason. Today the fat brown one chased the little one with blue feathers off its floating perch and across the pond then the brown one went back and stole his perch. I wanted to scold it for being a bully. The activities reminded me of Rizzoli family dinners and I can't help but smile a little. It is bittersweet. Jane stares straight ahead into the distance. I touch her arm and tell her how wonderful everything in nature is and that the ducks remind me of her family. I touch her like she can feel it. I speak as though being positive will effect change.

I talk to her like she can hear it.

I don't know if she can.

It has been 8 days of the same.

Her vitals are fine but she is in a stupor. She doesn't blink or move or respond to external stimuli.

The doctors at the hospital tried benzodiazepine therapy the moment we arrived with Jane 8 days ago. 2mg of Loranepam intraveniously followed by a long 3 hour wait. If it was going to work there would be some results within those 3 hours. It didn't work. She remained in her frozen state. Those 'experts' determined she was a lost cause. That the only thing they believed they could do now was Electroconvulsive therapy. They saw the only solution was to send her to a facility, an institute, that would care for her until...until something changed.

 _Physicians including psychiatrists were directly involved in all of the CIA mind control operations. One of the 15,000 documents_ gaine _d under the Freedom of Information Act_ _referred to psychiatrists "of considerable note" who were professors at prominent medical schools, who had TOP SECRET CIA clearance and who were involved as consultants on the development of the techniques._

A mental institute. A building with concrete walls and no windows and nurses that don't smile and drugs for no reason at all. Full of Psychiatrists. Physicians. Shocking her. Torturing her. Promising it would work and that it was safe and standard procedure.

 _The use of electro-shock to produce amnesia was subsequently successfully demonstrated in a series of cases by Dr. Ewen Cameron at McGill, who received CIA money through MKULTRA Subproject 68 in 1957. Many of the discussions, literature reviews and experiments conducted under BLUEBIRD and ARTICHOKE were followed up on in MKULTRA and MKSEARCH. The involvement of physicians including psychiatrists was extensive, systematic and fundamental to the Programs. The involvement included consultation, literature reviews, experimentation and direct participation in field operations._

 _"_ _Over my dead body."_ I told them.

My views on experts and professionals has been forever altered by this experience.

I believe Hofstedes' facility must the best in the world. There are only a few facilities of it's kind in the world. One that helps those mind-controlled instead of creating them. Helps them without using labels and drugs.

This facility has a 24/7 staff of nurses, doctors, and analysist's. High tech machines that monitor heart rates, brain activity, sleep patterns, REM patterns and more. The best psychologists in the world in the field of mind-control. The best of everything. Buffet dining rooms with friendly chefs that make you anything you want to eat day or night. Large outdoor gardens full of roses, gardenias, lilies and violets that smell like heaven on a dewy morning. Rolling meadows covered in buttercups tucked under distant snow covered mountains.

Dr. Hofstede welcomed us both.

Jane had countless MRI's and a variety of specialists discussed the results at length. Her brain activity was monitored hourly. The many read-out's showed consistent low brain activity with no spikes.

Dr. Hofstede told me _"This is her minds way of coping with trauma. It is how her mind is protecting itself. She has disassociated in order for her mind to survive. We will get through to her somehow. Don't worry we will do whatever we can._ "

I did worry.

I was kept up to date with every detail with her care and all her test results. I read every book and article and blog I could find on the topics of catatonia, ritual abuse and mind-control victim survivors. There was so many many documents about CIA mind-control programs, who created them, who ran them, what they did, when they did it, when they shut down or changed names to a new program...but almost nothing on undoing it, reversing it, fixing it. There were books on creating a slave but not releasing one. What was available was practically unhelpful.

It was a waiting game.

I had given notice at work for extended leave so I could dedicate every waking moment to Jane. It was my fault, she was my responsibility. I would stay by her side.

 _Hope. A feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen._

I had been full of joy when I could move Jane's arm and hand to my cheek. It was change, it was progress. Progress. Hope.

She had somehow allowed her muscles to relax enough that her arm was in my control. She was no longer rigid.

 _Waxy flexibility, in which the limb or other body part of a catatonic person can be moved into another position that is then maintained._

I was so full of hope.

 _Misguided. Having or showing faulty judgement or reasoning._

I relished in her touch. Her palm on my cheek. Soft and warm.

But when I had moved away from her slightly her hand stayed, it remained fixed out in front of her exactly where my cheek had been. She was like a statue.

 _Catalepsy...will maintain a position placed in by another, defying gravity for a long time._

Catatonia is probably the least understood condition in the world. It has been classified a symptom of other mental illness rather than a condition of it's own. Only a few have recovered and explained their memories while catatonic and the accounts vary wildly.

The only progress so far Jane has made is changing from completely rigid and unmovable to malleable.

She remains immobile, mute, and in a state of stupor, with fixed gaze. It was painful to watch but I refused to leave her.

It wasn't progress...it was only change. I refused to cry. What would crying do.

Dr. Hofstede felt that the event had pushed her into an alternate personality that had been created for her and that is where she remained. He believed the old outdated barbaric treatments of electro shock therapy would most likely only have a negative impact and that recent studies showed it could also damage the brain. He felt ECT was a cruel and unusual punishment. I concurred with his evaluation based on my own research and many testimonials I had read.

 _Due to the severe trauma induced through Electro, abuse and other methods, the mind splits off into alternate personalities from the core. Formerly referred to as Multiple Personality Disorder, it is presently recognized as Dissociative Identity Disorder and is the basis for MONARCH programming. Further conditioning of the victim's mind is enhanced through hypnotism, double-bind coercion, pleasure-pain reversals, food, water, sleep and sensory deprivation, along with various drugs which alter certain cerebral functions._

It felt good to have someone I could trust with Jane.

We had been so lucky last time with regressive hypnotherapy and we didn't know it. We didn't know how blessed we had been last time. How I wish I had cherished the last year with Jane. How lucky we had been to have Jane survive it then. She had come back whole.

Because of her current state there is no way to enter her mind right now, no way to unlock the door that holds her. No way to know if she can hear or comprehend.

There maybe no hope.

Regret was my companion once hope was distant. And guilt caused me to dwell in it.

 _Improbable. Not likely to be true or to happen._

We flew her family to visit. Angela had come twice now. The first visit was very emotional. They remained strong while in Jane's room with her. They spoke to her, hugged her. Jane did not blink or swallow. She breathed and her heart beat regularly keeping her body alive.

She did nothing else.

In the hallway outside afterwards there was obvious confusion and anger. Questions and yelling. Raw emotion.

It was everything a mother feared...to lose her baby girl. To not know what would happen next.

I didn't have the answers for her family.

I couldn't bear to tell them that this could be permanent. I couldn't bear to see the hurt in their faces. That they may look at me with the same betrayal Jane had.

I held my hands over my mouth to hold back the sobs and the apologies that threatened to slip through my lips. I didn't want to give them a reason to hate me. I hated myself enough already.

I offered them hope. I wanted it for myself but it kept slipping away. So I gave it to them before I had lost it completely.

At least someone could make use of it.

Hope.

* * *

SAVING BLUE

Blue circles around over its own path repeatedly, circling the place where red stopped. Blues lines have become undefinable.

It looks only like an infinite river with no end surrounding a purple splatter.

All there is to do is wait. And pray. Pray for a miracle.

 _Hopeless. Feeling or causing despair._

Everyday my heart gets a little bit weaker, hope is barely there anymore.

I am dying slowly inside.

"Jane"

No response but I am almost used to that now.

I wonder if she hears me.

"Did you know that there is a whole language of flowers."

I caress the 5 tiny vibrant blue actinomorphic flowers with 5 sepals and petal. The whole flower about one centimeter in size.

"It was a means of cryptological communication through the use of arrangement of flowers. The use of coded messages or floriography as it is called was in the form of blooms and arrangements. It soared in Victoria England and the United States during the 19th century because it allowed the sender to express feelings to the recipient which could not be spoken aloud in society."

I place in her hand a bunch of wild bright blue forget-me-nots I picked for her. I close her hand around it.

I smile softly at her. I could imagine in another lifetime or in a parallel universe she might roll her eyes or groan or ask me what flower might mean 'I am so bored' or 'Walking encyclopaedia'.

I missed her sarcasm. I missed her humour. I missed _her._

"All of the hundreds of flowers in the Myosotis genus can be called Forget Me Nots. This unusual Greek name means mouse's ear which is a literal description of the shape of the small petals. The Forget Me Not flower means ' _remember me forever'_."

I hope she doesn't forget me, hasn't forgotten me. I hold her hand and squeeze it. I hope she understands.

I will never forget her. Never forget that she is in there.

" _Don't forget, Jane. Don't forget."_

I feel like I am dying inside.

But I am not dead.

I will not quit.

Remember

 _Remember_

* * *

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

 _Remember._

* * *

We all hope for happy endings. For good things to happen to good people. For miracles.

For life to be good and fair.

Is life really like that? Why do we think that? Did someone tell us life would be good and fair or is it a misinformed human instinct?

Is the world so fallen and full of sin that what should be cannot ever be.

If life _was_ fair Jane would wake up, win a cruise around the world, win the lottery, a brand new car, and be repaid ever good thing she has ever done, every time she went the extra mile, every sacrifice she made for other people.

My experience is life isn't fair. It's something I can be certain of...hold onto as truth.

Life isn't fair for parents that loose a child, the rape victim, the person that falls and can never walk again, the elderly that are scammed out of their tiny nest-egg, children born with a congenital disorder, stroke victims, families living in war torn countries and those that haven't eaten for weeks. And for Jane.

Those that aren't struck with tragedy or pain will instead work their entire life to survive, to pay taxes and buy the things they want. A hopefully they will get a pension when they are finally too old to work and too old to play anymore. To survive while they wait out their death after fighting to get there.

A good and fair life just might be a delusion. Something we strive for but always just fail to achieve.

A magicians slight of hand.

Something always just barely out of our grasp. Always on the tip of our tongue.

A tangible illusion. A whisper on the breeze.

We comfort ourselves with focusing the few good things just to survive the bad. A birth in the family, the purchase of a first home, a promotion at work, a new car, a grand-child's birthday, a new pet or catching the bad guy and closing a case.

We try to be happy, to make do, to get over it and find the good in the world...we try.

When did I become such a pessimist.

But if life isn't fair then am I holding onto a false hope.

If life isn't fair then my story will be but a tragedy. A modern day Romeo and Juliet.

If life isn't fair then Jane might be like this forever.

Tragedy, we all experience it in different ways, we all hope for a fairytale ending...is there such a thing?

BUTTER-FLIES

Friday is sunny and warm. We go for a long walk in the garden. My senses are hit with the aroma of flowers and I breathe in deep enjoying it. The sun warming my skin just with it's graze.

It's a nice change to the confines of the building we spend so many hours in.

I park Jane's chair next to a wooden bench and we sit next to each other in the middle of the garden surrounded by tuffs of purple lavender.

I take her hands as I always do and rub the back of them, her scars.

Usually I would talk to her about anything and everything but today I can think of nothing to say so we sit in silence.

It's picturesque and if it weren't for the sounds of birds and crickets I could have been in a museum staring at a stunning canvas.

It's like static. We don't move and other than the light breeze shifting the tips of the trees and tall grasses, the scene doesn't move.

Static.

Static like Jane.

A butterfly floats past in silence, wearing it's vibrant orange and black colors with pride, so softly it barely interrupts anything except my thoughts as it floats almost magically from tuff to tuff of lavender, backwards and forwards and sideways, hovering and fluttering. It is a master of aerodynamic mechanisms.

Just 10 years ago, conventional laws of aerodynamics could not explain how any of the insects could fly at all, let alone maneuver so masterfully in complete control at low speeds like a butterfly can.

Now researchers have uncovered a variety of _unconventional_ ways that these gossamer aeronauts use their wings to stay aloft.

The range of complicated wing movements which generate more lift than simple flapping would do. Butterfly's use active and inactive upstrokes, in addition to the use of rotational mechanisms and the clap-and-fling mechanism creating leading-edge vortexes.

They are not at all easy to catch either. When I was six our class tried to catch butterflies. But they are erratic fliers whose aerial trajectory is all but linear.

Not just how it flies but everything about a butterfly is marvelous.

They are without a doubt one of the most remarkable creatures of all creation.

My mind drifts to a memory, a memory of when my father took me to a butterfly grove in the country. It was one of the most special father daughter moments I can recall. I was seven.

I gazed around in awe at all the colorful creatures so close I could reach out and touch them. One landed on my arm and it's touch so feather light I didn't even notice it. My father told me that a blue one was sitting on my elbow. It was so incredible I wanted to cry.

Then my father asked me about the butterflies colors.

"Maura darling, do you know what causes the colors on a butterflies wings?"

I shook my head. I didn't know. I thought they were exactly as they appeared...colored like birds and trees and flowers.

"What do you think about when you think of scales?"

I wanted to say that when I think about scales I think of animals. That fish have scales for protection from predators and coral and it makes them shiny. That when you run your hand backwards it is spiky and rough but they are smooth when stroked the right way and that they are slippery when wet. And that fish scales are crunchy to eat on grilled fish. I remembered that birds feet have scales which are hardened skin, they are tough and bumpy and strange to touch. And I knew that a turtle shell is made of large scutes formed mostly from keratin and their shell is hard and smooth. And I had wanted to ask my father right then if I could have a tortoise as a pet because they must be fascinating in so so many ways.

And I knew that reptiles and snakes are covered in scales too but it is a skin that they shed or molt which is called ecdysis, but I struggled to pronounce it properly. My teacher had also told the class that crocodiles have scales but I had not touched one. Crocodiles skin looked like tough bumpy leather in pictures and I imagined that's how it might feel.

"There are different types of scales, daddy, but they are usually small hard overlapping plates that grows out of animal's skin for protection. They are very imp- important for many animals to survive." I had informed my father with all the strength and determination a seven year old can muster up who is seeking approval.

I somehow knew he was talking about butterflies as I stared at the shimmering colors floating around my head. I didn't know what scales had to do with butterflies. I didn't know too much about butterflies except that they are soft and delicate and you can damage their wings if you aren't gentle and an adult butterfly doesn't really heal so you have to be really careful.

"You are right Maura. There is another type of scale though, one that is the opposite of hard. A type that is soft and delicate."

I looked at my father as he smiled at me like it was a secret. Like there was a deep meaning in his words that words alone could not express.

"We would never call scales beautiful or soft in any other creature except a butterfly. Butterflies and moths belong to the order Lepidoptera from the Greek lepid meaning scale and pteron meaning wing. Covering a butterflies wings are thousands of scales split into two to three layers, separated by air. They are made of very thin layers of _chitin_ , which is the same material that the outer shells of insects are made of. They're sort of like the scales on fish, but much much smaller, so small that they seem like a fine powder."

When I had touched a butterfly for the first time among the cabbages in our garden and a powder like dust had stuck to my fingertips. I had cried because I thought I had stolen it's colors and hurt it, but my mother had comforted me and said it would be alright as long as I was careful, she told me that it was because of the natural oils in my skin. I remember it because it was rare for her to comfort me like that.

I thought butterflies must be what people called fairies since there was no such thing as a fairy and fairy dust but there were butterflies and butterfly dust. Both were colorful, incredible and both could fly.

"The scales do several things, they help regulate a butterfly's body temperature by either absorbing or reflecting sunlight, depending on the angle the wings are turned to the sun."

I looked at the butterflies in the grove around me and a lot of them were sunbathing with their wings open partway. Basking in it.

"Scales are what gives the wings rigidity that allows a butterfly to fly."

I couldn't see any scales on them even when I squinted, not scales like any I had seen on other creatures, they must be very tiny. I thought of all the butterflies I had ever seen and wondered why I had never thought about their wings and how they flew.

"The scales repel some water which gives them protection from rain or a sprinkler. The scales also help protect them from predators by making the wings real slippery and hard to hold. Or if they get trapped in a spiders web they can escape by leaving some scales behind."

Or where they went or why.

I continue to stroke Jane's hands and occasionally squeeze them gently. I would love to tell her everything I knew about butterflies, to tell her wonderful stories about them. But I was so lost in my thoughts, my memories, I was saying nothing, staring at nothing, just remembering.

My father continued softly as I stared in awe at these ever so tiny insects flying from plant to plant almost unaware of my presence. "Scales also help increase the lift to drag ratio in gliding flight. And butterflies get their colors from two different sources. Ordinary color from chemicals that absorb certain wavelengths and reflect others as well as melanin. And structural color is from the specific structure of the butterflies' wings. The intricate patterning of thousands of microscopic scales, attached to thin wing membranes. Those scales scatter light in complex ways making the color can shift as you move. This effect is known as iridescence."

I knew about iridescence because one of my classmates had an iridescent book cover and I really loved it. The way it was like a rainbow whenever it moved in the light. I wasn't allowed one because they were too _childish_.

"Butterfly wings increase the effects of iridescence because of the many extra layers for the light to pass through. When light hits the different layers of the butterfly wing, it is reflected numerous times. The combination of all these reflections causes the very intense colors that you see in many species. It works the same way that the thin walls of a soap bubble create iridescent colors."

In the bath that night I had played with the bubbles and wondered how those little scales were made and layered and so amazing.

"The colors as well as being beautiful also serves as a warning to predators or as a tool for communication with other butterflies..."

I wondered if the butterfly knew while it had been a defenseless caterpillar stuck on a leaf that it would one day be a stunning butterfly. I wondered how my father knew everything about everything. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.

There is a gentle squeeze on my hand, so subtle it barely registers through to my subconscious.

I remembered when I was eight I was given a microscope for my birthday and the first thing I wanted to see with it was the scales on a butterfly wing. I had borrowed my fathers butterfly net but couldn't catch one on my own.

One fine summers day a few days later my nanny had helped me to catch one. It was a Monarch. I was so excited my smile reached both ears.

I called my father who was away on business and as I watched my orange butterfly friend bounce from side to side around in a glass jar on my desk. I asked him how I would be able to get it to stay still so I see it's wing under the microscope.

What he told me I think, in part, may have prepared me for being a medical examiner, but as a fragile 8 year old I could not bear the task of impailing an innocent butterfly. I released the beautiful creature the next morning and had to wait many more days before I found a dead butterfly on the footpath.

After a few departing words for the deceased I raced home with the creature cradled in my little hands. And placed it under my waiting microscope.

What I saw was incredible. It was like hundreds of tiny bird feathers in perfect little rows. And every part of the wing had a different pattern of colors. And every time I magnified it I had to pinch myself to believe what I was seeing. Each individual scale was like a structural grid that looked like hundreds of rows of ribs. It was a masterpiece of complex design and I was in awe of it.

My second butterfly revealed that every butterfly had different colors. patterns and scale arrangements and shapes. There was a world of hidden dimensions in the images, a treasury of unique beauty and art, gratifying proof that science leads to an appreciation of beauty.

It was so intriguing and so gripping that I spent the next few years studying butterflies wings as a hobby.

I feel the slight tingle of skin brush against mine, it is almost comforting and brings me back to the present and I shiver for a moment as I am reminded of a monarch's esoteric symbology. Of the Monarch program and what it means to us right here and now. The many disturbing things I never understood before.

I look down at Jane's forearm, where the invisible tattoo lies just beneath the surface.

A butterfly. Most likely a Monarch.

I had studied it in detail under a blacklight since arriving but it revealed no clues. Just a phosphorus green butterfly in full flight.

I lifted her fingers to my lips and kissed her fingertips. I wondered if she knew it was me.

The monarch program had operated under many names since its conception which happened to be a lot further back than I originally thought. Or expected.

One of the earliest writings giving reference to it is the Egyptian Book of the Dead, a compilation of rituals explicitly describing methods of torture and intimidation, to create trauma, the use of potions or drugs and the casting of spells or hypnotism, ultimately resulting in the total enslavement of the initiate. The beginnings were Mystery Religions of ancient Egypt, Greece, India and Babylon laid the foundations.

In 1776, a Bavarian Jesuit by the name of Adam Weishaupt was commissioned by the House of Rothschild to centralize the power base of the Mystery Religions into what is commonly known as the Illuminati, meaning "Enlightened Ones."

By the 19th century, Great Britain and Germany were recognized as the primary geographic areas of Illuminati control.

The first work in Behavioral Science research was established in England in 1882, while much of the early medical and psychiatric techniques involved in mind control were pioneered at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute in Germany.

The Tavistock Institute of Human Relations was set up in London in 1921 to study the _breaking point_ of humans.

Much of the preliminary experimentation concerning genetic engineering and behavior modification was conducted by Dr. Josef Mengele at Auschwitz. Besides the insidious surgical experimentation performed at the concentration camp, some of the children were subjected to massive amounts of electroshock. Sadly, many of them did not survive the brutality. Concurrently, _brain-washing_ was carried out on inmates at Dachau, who were placed under hypnosis and given the hallucinogenic drug mescaline.

I trace my fingers over the invisible ink on her arm and then I feel it, this time I know I'm not imaging it, it's not wishful thinking. Jane squeezes my hand. It is weak. It is barely there, but it is there. It is.

I might have thought it a physical response to external stimuli or an involuntary movement, only she had never done this before today. It might be neurological response... it might be anything. It could even be epilepsy. It could be anything. Then her hand relaxes again.

Tomorrow I might try this again while Jane is being monitored.

I hold back all excitement and hope as I slowly turn to look at Jane. I realize this might be the longest I have sat beside her with her without speaking. It has been well over 30 minutes.

Was she bored?

Her eyes are slightly glassy but not indifferent. Her head may have moved, I cannot recall what position it had been in exactly.

If the crushing pain that hit my heart and stomach simultaneously wasn't so intense I was sure I wouldn't survive the hope that hit me like a ton of bricks, like a knife in my chest.

The pain was so intense I wasn't able to jump up and scream with joy or shake her or worse...leave her there and run back to the facility to get an expert.

I sat it surreal shock.

I was breathing and my heart was racing. It was pain I would call pleasure.

I was so confused I wasn't sure I would be able to tell if she did it again.

I study her face. I squeeze her hand back in response.

I swallow. I breathe. I moisten my dry lips.

"I felt that Jane."

I wait and watch.

I wait.

I calm myself.

I become static.

After WWII, the U.S. Department of Defense, under the code name Project Paperclip, secretly imported many of the top German Nazi and Italian Fascist scientists and spies into the United States via South America and the Vatican.

The Central Intelligence Group was founded in 1946 and was renamed the Central Intelligence Agency in 1947.

With the CIA and National Security Council firmly established, the first in a series of covert brain-washing programs was initiated by the Navy in the fall of 1947.

Project CHATTER was developed in response to the Soviet's successes through the use of truth drugs, the research focused on the identification and testing of such drugs for use in interrogations and the recruitment of agents. The project was officially terminated in 1953.

In 1950 the CIA decided to expand their efforts in the area of behavior modification, with the advent of Project BLUEBIRD, approved by director Allen Dulles.

In August 1951, _Project BLUE BIRD was renamed_ Project ARTICHOKE, which evaluated offensive uses of interrogation techniques, including hypnosis and drugs. The program ceased in 1956.

Three years prior to the halt of Project ARTICHOKE, Project MK-ULTRA came into existence on April 13, 1953 along the lines proposed by Richard Helms, Deputy Director of Central Intelligence. The hypothetical etymology of MK may possibly stand for Mind Kontrolle. The obvious translation of the German word Kontrolle into English is control.

There were 149 subprojects listed under the umbrella of MKULTRA. Project MONARCH has not been officially identified by any government documentation as one of the corresponding subprojects, but is used rather, as a descriptive "catch phrase" by survivors, therapists, and possible "insiders".

MONARCH may in fact, have culminated from MKSEARCH subprojects such as operation SPELLBINDER, which was set up to create "sleeper" assassins who could be activated upon receiving a key word or phrase while in a post-hypnotic trance.

It is at least four minutes before I see her flexor digitorum profundis muscle flex and I feel her distal joints compress and her fingers squeeze ever so delicately in my hand.

I want to cry. Maybe I do.

I smile. I laugh. I sniff. I choke.

"Jane"

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.

I know nothing, I know everything.

"Jane"

We are communicating.

Sort of.

She is speaking to me.

She is in there.

Red is alive.

I squat in front of her knees and look into her face. Maybe if I sit here long enough she will look at me or blink or maybe even smile.

Maybe I just had to wait. To slow down. To become static like her.

Or have I accepted hope too abruptly, could there be a logical reason I am missing.

I smile at her, I hope she see's it.

And I feel it again, her grip, a squeeze, a little stronger than last time.

She has never made me so happy. Joy has never embraced me so fully and completely in all my life.

 _"_ _Jane"_

* * *

 _to be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

MONARCH - When a person is undergoing trauma induced by electroshock, a feeling of light-headedness is evidenced; as if one is floating or fluttering like a butterfly. There is also a symbolic representation pertaining to the transformation or metamorphosis of this beautiful insect: from a caterpillar to a cocoon, to a butterfly which will return to its point of origin. Such is the migratory pattern that makes this species unique.

* * *

It took 20 minutes to get back to the main facility. And I could barely contain myself and I had to repeat everything several times as it came out a jumbled mess until finally the simplest sentence cleared everything up.

"She squeezed my hand...she did. I swear it."

We do every scan and I watch every readout. We talk about them at great length but the scans showed very little difference.

Even so I was sure it had not been nothing. It couldn't be. Couldn't.

"Maybe she exhausted herself" I hoped it as I said it.

Hope.

There is that hope again...but it had grown a little since last time. Grown since it had almost died inside me.

Hofsteder was gentle as he faced me up to reality "We don't know what happened or what it means yet, Maura. It is something for sure but we must not expect a miracle. Time will tell."

"I know"

I do know. I know it in my head.

But tomorrow is another day, tomorrow we will try new things.

Tomorrow is another day.

THE STORY OF PURPLE

Night-time routine is always quiet. The nurses leave us alone after their final checks.

I usually told Jane myths and folk legends. Like 'bluebeard' or 'the handless maiden'.

I was never one for fairy tales with happy endings anyway. They always led to disappointment. Although I had found myself daydreaming anyway these days.

 _Realism. The absence of illusion._

 _Disillusionment. Disappointment in something that one discovers to be less good than one had believed._

Every night I would tell her I was sorry. Tonight is no different.

But tonight I try something different, maybe it will help.

I had decided to tell her what was supposed to happen. How _that_ day was meant to work out.

A world maybe without a purple splatter in it.

I lay her down and close her eyes like I always do.

I climb onto the bed beside her and stare up at the ceiling which is covered in pictures drawn by children. We had decorated the ceiling because every morning Jane was found with her eyes open. The idea was to give her something more interesting to look at than clinical white ceiling tiles embedded with fluorescent bulbs.

I knew the ceiling by heart now. Every drawing, every paper, every ineligible name. Right down to the color of every drawing pin. None of them were pictures of butterflies...no one was allowed to draw butterflies.

I often wondered about those children whose names were on each picture...who they were...what they looked like...where they came from...where they were going.

A few had been drawn by children in the facility we were in, those pictures were special because they had been drawn especially for Jane by children who could empathize with her, who had seen her. A few I had passed in the halls and had the chance to speak with them briefly. Mostly they looked haunted. I was told that some had been abused before they were five years old.

All of them looked at Jane and I with sadness. I returned the looks with sympathy.

We lay for a moment without speaking while I contemplate the best way to tell the story. Her story.

My favorite picture is of a purple castle with a blue fire breathing dragon on top of the tallest turret. And a warrior with dark curly hair and a yellow sword and Jane scribbled carefully beside it. The writing was almost unreadable. The J was backwards as was the C in Chelsea, the name of the artist in pink on the bottom left corner. Chelsea is the blonde haired blue eyed nine year old at the other end of the corridor who never leaves her room unless she is screaming at the top of her lungs. She has been here five months and much like Jane has not progressed very much in that time...yet.

Jane the warrior through the eyes of a child. Both had survived something inhumane and unspeakable. Both had fought terrible dragons. And both had survived. Broken warriors. I could probably never understand the true depth of Chelsea's picture.

"You were never meant to get free. I underestimated you. I always have though. I thought my plan was failsafe. I needed you to help me with the planning, didn't I?"

It's rhetorical. I swallow hard. Had she helped with the plan it may have worked. Regret. Guilt. Or maybe not. Hindsight...not a science.

I have to try not to live in regret, if I want to survive this.

The guilt may never fully leave. But I cannot carry it forever.

"Jet was supposed to get Frankie's gun or my gun and shoot me with the blanks we had in both guns. Frankie had a loaded gun hidden too just in case. But we knew he wanted me dead, you had told me already, you had recalled a conversation while being his captive and told me accidentally. We believed that once he thought I was dead, that he would then take you along with him. We saw no reason for him to hurt you. Mind-control you maybe for something else, maybe even reveal the real reason he did it to you in the first place, but not hurt you."

 _What_ did _they want with Jane?_

"If I was no longer a threat he might relax. And Korsak and the others were going to follow him and you and then send in the calvary to take them all so they could never get to you again, none of them, ever. We wanted to take everyone involved no matter who they were, no matter how high up. CIA or whatever, it didn't matter to me. I hoped we would get all the answers we needed and one day we could go back to the way things were."

I stroke her arm like I would usually to comfort her, like I had in the past. Except tonight I am truly sure she can feel it. There is that _hope_ sneaking in again.

"There are several secret facilities used for mind-control, I guess I felt stopping one of them would save a lot of people, including you. It might have made everything you went through worth something."

I wonder if she is asleep already. She doesn't ever snore now so I can't tell. And her breathing is always slow and regular and her heart rate is always resting. Her monitors would tell me but they are in the other room.

"In the beginning we tried to interrogate Jet. He said he was leaving you there to take the rap for my murder. We suspect he had actually lost his job and gone rouge which is why he was going to leave you. You wouldn't have been his anymore. He hasn't talked again about it. After that he only said things to torture me...tiny painful details of what he did to you."

I take a deep breath and push away the thoughts of the descriptions I had so desperately wanted to hear until I heard them.

"The doctors thought he had had a psychotic break before he took you. He did reveal some of the ways of programming so that might at least help others in this and other recovery facilities. A paltry comfort."

Sometimes knowing how or why or who does very little to comfort the current situation. And once only days ago those answers would be everything to me...but now they are nothing.

"He doesn't know what he has done to you. What has happened. He would probably enjoy what he has done to us."

I hated purple.

"A covert group took Jet away so I guess we will never know anymore now. But he was right after all."

She could be asleep. She looks beautiful and relaxed and at peace.

"He was able to make us both suffer more."

I kiss her gently on the corner of her mouth and watch her chest rise and fall. She is alive, and today she showed me. That is more that I even imagined possible when I lay beside her last night.

"We will find a way through this. Just don't forget that I am here."

* * *

I must hope. Hope that a kind and gentle, blue collar middle class detective's life, will not stay like this forever.

Every night since arriving I dreamed Jane woke out of her stupor, that she remembered everything, that life was just perfect afterwards. Every morning I would awaken to reality and remember it was just a dream.

I could be grateful Jane hadn't become a slave to them.

I was grateful she had survived.

I was grateful to have such amazing care for her.

I was grateful her mother and brothers came to visit as often as they did.

I was grateful for what could be... so I would stop despairing.

But my gratitude had barely balanced my guilt. But now, today, hope would battle guilt head to head. It was a refreshing break from despair.

Jane would have scolded me if she was aware of my internal conflict. She would have told me that I cannot control the things of the world. And she would have thanked me for what I had tried to do. For what I had done.

But Jane wasn't, not right now. And what she would say wasn't louder than my own thoughts were. So I was left to my own with them.

TOMORROW

The sun streams in the window and bounces blindingly off every surface it touches. A new day has dawned. It is brighter than yesterday. It is full of hope.

 _Hope._

I woke precariously balanced on the thin ledge between fear and excitement.

It felt like being torn in opposite directions.

But at least I felt it, I felt something was possible, I felt alive.

 _So many possibilities._

I had read a story about a woman who had been in a catatonic stupor for 6-8 weeks in 2008 due to severe depression. The story both scared and comforted me. She remembered very little of the time she was like that. Maybe it impaired memory formation. What she said she did remember is that it felt so tiring to move and respond to stimuli that she usually just ignored it. That she could still think things in her head but her thoughts were very slow and verbalizing them was too much effort. She would sit in the exact same position for hours and not feel like that much time had gone by. Mostly she just tried to close her eyes and sleep because she was so tired, but she don't know if she actually fell asleep or not.

Another story was a lady who said she _had_ been responding but no one noticed because everyone around her was moving too fast. On super fast forward. To her she was moving at a normal pace but she could tell it was her that was moving slowly because the clock in the room was going at the same speed as the people around her.

Alone in my room I close my eyes. What a terrible reality to live in. A world going a different speed. I hoped Jane wasn't in that place, in that kind of hell. A world moving so frantically around her no one knew she was reaching out. A person in that place would likely feel alone, dismissed, and unimportant.

I doubted those people had gone through what Jane had and I knew the cause of their catatonia was not the same as Jane's. I hoped it was different for Jane. That it wasn't horrific.

Still there was a significant change today, within me and with me.

From today, every action I will make will be with the presumption that Jane _can_ hear and feel me. And that I must to give her as long as she needs to respond, to react.

"Jane"

Jane was hooked up to several machines today and we began the tests with new vigor.

"Squeeze my hand if you can hear and understand me?"

I hold her hands. I speak slowly and deliberately and I wait.

The passage of time is a strange thing. They say it goes faster as you get older, like it is running out, or maybe it is just that you realize you don't have a lot of it left so it begins to elude you, trick you, laugh at you.

Time.

Time is relative. Time is close and far at the same time.

Time reminded me of sun-dials. Of shadows. Of circles. Of Roman numerals. Of Italy. Of family. Of being scolded and praised at once for saying I didn't have to go to bed because the sundial had stopped at dusk. Of stars and of compasses as I was shown it was my bedtime after all.

I think of time-lapse's of stars and I wonder if for Jane everything was time-lapsed. If that is how she saw the world right now.

The streaks left by stars moving across the sky or the shadow spiraling around the centre or the sundial. Streaks of red and white lights left by cars against dark roads. Streaks of white clouds against clear blue skies. Everything sped up. Everything moving too quickly.

I stay as still as I can.

I wait.

I wondered if for Jane the silver handrails against the white walls left clean silver streaks or if the colors of hundreds of flowers bled across the pathways in the gardens as we wheeled through them.

The light on the machine on my right flashes. I can't begin to think which one it is because I am distracted by the sensation in my hand. She moves. It's not quite a squeeze. It's more like a long twitch.

I am elated but I contain it, I show decorum, somehow. I pretend to be professional because on the inside I am anything but.

I want to ask if she is mad at me, if she forgives me.

I want to ask what she remembers. If she knows where she is.

There is a lot of movement I catch out of the corner of my eye as several people in white coats in the viewing room start to move frantically around. Some getting closer to the window and others moving towards computer screens.

"Hi, Jane."

I can't help but smile.

"Squeeze my hand if you are alright"

There is a list of questions that the experts came up with, a way to determine the parameters of communication. This question wasn't one of them as Jane feeling ok or alright would be subjective and unhelpful. I had argued for it and lost. But I asked it anyway. Part of me needed to know. It could hurt me more than anything to know she wasn't ok and be unable to help her. But I had to know.

So I wait for the answer no-one but me wants with my goofy smile plastered on my face for Jane and a bunch of doctors to see.

I think about the days when no-one smiled in photo's. I used to think it wouldn't be as hard as they all thought. Then my cheekbones start to hurt and I have to stop.

Tick...tick... tick...

Time is reliably unpredictable.

But when you slow down on purpose time becomes slow with you. One minute feels like one hour when you count the seconds.

I remember when I was young and wanted to read for 15 more minutes. It only felt like 2 minutes before mother came and turned the light out.

Or when I was invited to a party at another girls house and it felt like it was over before it had begun.

How can it be that when you want time to hurry up it slows down but when you are having fun it speeds up just so you have less time to enjoy it.

Time is reliably unpredictable.

I wondered if grown-ups had not been truthful about the time. Then when I learnt to read time I knew they had been truthful. Time was constant so long as I watched it closely. So long as I never took my eyes off it.

Her pupils shift to meet mine and time does something it has never done before.

Time stands still.

* * *

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, so it's been a crazy week as always. I have been writing this chapter and the next simultaneously jumping between the two...I hope this chapter doesn't seem disjointed because of it. Let me know. Also It seems long. too long? boring? anything unnecessary?  
Thank you for your comments, for reading. Hope you continue to enjoy. :D

* * *

Chapter 8

 _Her pupils shift to meet mine and time does something it has never done before._

 _Time stands still._

We stare into each others eyes for what might have been forever...or only seconds. I didn't matter.

It felt like she could see me again. Like she always had seen me when no one else did. I had missed that. I had missed being seen. I would be happy to just stay like this. Forever.

But she wasn't moving. Her eye's didn't show recognition or joy or anything really.

It had been hard to see Jane like this, her usual sarcastic, fun-loving, playful, energetic personality completely missing and in it's place a shell of a person. It looked like her, but it did not speak, it didn't smell much like her anymore. She didn't smile or get angry. She showed no representation of her past self except her features, tall thin frame and chocolate brown eyes.

Those eye's were still hers despite the lack of sparkle and that the usual gentleness was missing. It feels like a lifetime since she has _looked_ at me without _that look_. That look when she looked at me and thought I betrayed her, when she looked at me with confusion and hurt and maybe fear. When I betrayed her.

That look.

It was the image that haunted my dreams every night since that day.

Since purple.

It was what woke me up in the middle of the night soaked through after re-living every second after _that look_ over and over and over again.

I want to replace _that look_ , even if this _look_ is expressionless, dull and possibly a slightly saddened one. Despite that, this look was disturbingly better. It was like a halfway between hate and love.

It is expressionless.

No expression.

None.

Then my mind drifts and a terrible memory floods my mind.

I think back to the day Jet came back and Jane had her hand around my throat, I stared into _that_ expressionless face silently pleading for her to let me go, to let me breathe. This expression was similar to _that_ one.

Almost the same look.

And I suddenly feel completely vulnerable...I am alone in a room with locked doors...with who...with _what_ exactly.

We didn't know...

I feel the hairs on my neck bristle and goosebumps on my arms.

I was alone and vulnerable with a person I may not know at all. Who may not even recognize me. Who was looking at me like a zombie.

I hadn't asked if she knew me. I hadn't asked if she was Jane. What had I established?She had not squeezed my hand to the last question.

I turn slightly to look over at the viewing window. I want to know what they are seeing. I want them to see me and how anxious I am.

No eyes meet mine.

I wonder how quickly they could get to me if Jane decided to try and kill me.

 _DELTA is known as "killer" programming and was originally developed for training special agents or elite soldiers in covert operations. Optimal adrenal output and controlled aggression is evident. Subjects are devoid of fear and very systematic in carrying out their assignment. Self-destruct or suicide instructions are layered in at this level._

I feel frozen in fear.

Fear is a basic primal emotion that is key to evolutionary survival. It's one we share with animals.

The fear hot spot is the amygdala, an almond-shaped part of the deep brain.

Moskowitz proposes that catatonic stupor is directly linked to toxic immobility exactly like animals freezing in response to danger.

If Moskowitz is right then Jane and I may be connected in fear more-so than ever before in this moment.

* * *

Monarch Butterflies are considered King of Butterflies & The Most Beautiful.

Some ancient mystical groups, such as the Gnostics, saw the butterfly as a symbol of corrupt flesh. The "Angel of Death", aka Joseph Mengele, in Gnostic art works was portrayed crushing the butterfly.

How can something so beautiful such as a butterfly be the symbol of something so utterly corrupt and disturbing.

I thought of Chelsea, sweet little Chelsea. What evil purpose did someone have in mind for her. What horrific things might they have done to her to make her their slave.

From innocent to Monarch Mind Kontrolled Slave; from God's beautiful creation to a vessel of demonic forces programed to satisfy the needs of evildoers.

This was the flip side...A mind controlled person could look perfectly normal or even beautiful or with child like innocence, something like a beautiful butterfly, but they could be anything but safe if that was the programming.

Looks are truly deceiving.

Like with people in everyday life too. Those normal looking, well dressed people that scam those around them. Those that are nice to your face and gossip behind your back.  
Or those well dressed and admired Nazi doctors that developed mind control programs forcing LSD on children just to see how it affected them, and that inhumanely traumatized children to create these mind-controlled victims behind closed doors all the while being labelled a national hero in the public eye.

Fear and anger become equal within me.

There are programmed individuals who are expendable. The expendable ones are used as sex slaves, saboteurs, breeders, soldiers, drug couriers, etc. The torture scars are often visible; the expendable are the ones whose parents were forced through black mail to turn their children over to the Monarch program by the Central Intelligence Agency. These are the children who have pedophile fathers and or pornographic parents. Around the age of 30 they will be thrown from the freedom train, which is a code word for them to be killed.

I was told sweet, innocent looking, little Chelsea was someone classed as un-safe. She had been an expendable. It explained the caregiver that was constantly with her. Guard would have been a more appropriate title.

I had never seen Chelsea in any state other than the innocent child or the screaming 'I don't want to leave my room' child.

But looks can be deceiving and not everything is what it seems...especially in a place like this.

And that, I think, is what my father had been trying to teach me, what he had been alluding too with the butterflies scales. That the preconception of something often creates bias or filters. In my mind, scales had been large, hard and rough but the reality was scales can be both large and tiny as well as hard or soft. Sometimes we miss out on amazing things because of those preconceptions. Sometimes our interpretations are flawed because of assumptions. Sometimes we see innocence and love in the face of a killer. Or alternately we fear someone because of their outward roughness or appearance yet they are a caring and kind person.

9 year old Chelsea could be dangerous.

Could Jane be dangerous too.

Sometimes we cannot see what is right in front of us because we aren't looking for it.

 _Squeeze my hand if you are alright?_

She had not moved her hands. She had made eye contact. Was this look her way of saying she was _not_ alright. Was this her was of telling me it wasn't her. Was she about to stand up and kill me. Had this been all a part of a plan.

My thoughts had helpfully distracted me for awhile. Enough time for me too control myself. To not run screaming towards the door anyway. But no amount of distraction could pick me up and transport me out of this room and away from my anxiety.

Her hand flinches.

I jump. I might have made a sound.

She caught me on edge.

Relief follows surprise.

Joy. I fight to stay calm. Jane _is_ alright.

I fight my own body for emotional control.

Then her hand tightens more. Tighter. It is subtle and weak but it is there.

Happiness.

 _Jane is alright._

Jane squeezed my hand. Jane didn't attack me.

Total Relief.

I smile. I can't help it. It feels like my heart is lighter.

Like it's floating. Like a butterfly. I feel lighter than air.

I see hands wave from the viewing room. They indicate I need to hurry up. I can't even guess how long it has taken already.

I have to force Jane's right hand to open slightly. It's stiff like rigor. Then I place my left hand in Jane's right and my right in her left for the next part.

"Please squeeze your right hand"

There is still no expression in her face but I wonder what amount of energy she might use just to move just 1 muscle let alone the 17 muscles it takes to smile.

Or maybe she is still paralyzed in places.

After several long minutes she does. Her hand grip is getting stronger and she appears to have more fine muscle control.

"Squeeze your left hand."

I wonder if I move whether she would follow me.

I try it, I move slightly to the right and after a few moments her pupils shift ever so slightly to the left but don't quite meet mine again. I am saddened by the loss. But the good news is she was aware that I was gone, it hadn't been an involuntary movement.

But there is still no expression, no confusion, no fear.

Completely blank. Like a portrait. I wonder what is going through her mind.

She squeezes. It is weaker but clearly there. It is exciting. Important brain functions appear to be responding as they should be. The motor cortex was generating neural impulses that control the execution of movement. The cerebellum was functioning. Simply put she could hear and comprehend the instructions as well as respond.

"I want you to squeeze both hands if I go too fast. If you don't understand me or are confused. Or if you want to stop."

Boundaries. Communication both ways. Understanding. Repetition. It will get easier with time. Time.

"Do you understand? Squeeze you right hand if you do and your left if you don't."

2 or 3 minutes pass before her right hand tightens. She understands.

The questions have to be simple closed questions. Otherwise one question could have a follow-up of twenty questions. Something that would exhaust everyone. As clinical as it sounded the questions must serve the purpose of only helping for the long term. That was my briefing and as much as I hated it I knew they were right. We did not know how long this window was open for. I had already asked a question not on the list and if I wanted to be a part of her recovery I had to stay within the guidelines. The questions I wanted to ask could be asked when we were together alone later.

"Do you understand why you are here, right hand yes, left hand no?"

Every answer is painfully slow like when you're at the dentist. That is one place time tries to stop completely just to be cruel. But questions like this, left or right, are equivalent to yes or no. Alternatively If she hadn't responded with affirmation we would be compelled to ask the same question reversed to clarify the response, an affirmative squeeze for no. Two question, yes or no, double the time.

And as it was already at a snails pace, that Jane could choose yes _or_ no was encouraging. On so many levels it was encouraging.

That she was in this position at all still caused pangs of guilt throughout the session.

It was bittersweet. But it was hope.

Her left hand jerks slightly before gripping mine tighter.

She _doesn't_ know, she doesn't understand. How could she possibly know. But still, she is alright.

I cling to that because to imagine how confusing everything must be for her is almost to much to bear.

I wish I could help her understand but we know very little ourselves right now.

"You are in a special facility that will do whatever it takes to help you. You are safe."

I don't know how she perceives her situation or what she remembers so I won't presume to clarify any further than that right now. As it is I feel I am stating the obvious to Boston's finest detective.

I can't promise everything will be alright because I don't know it will.

Her non-dominant hand is definitely weaker. We would be sure to keep the questions orientated so the most likely affirmative responses would be for her dominant hand.

I can't wait to call her mother and tell her the latest news. That there was progress.

Imagine the joy when they can communicate with Jane they way I am.

And from now when I hug Jane and whisper that I love her in her ear I know she can understand me. That she know's it is me.

For a moment it feels like everything is right in the world. That good things are going to happen.

Hope.

Hope is free but deadly.

"Do you know who I am? squeeze your right hand if you do and your left if you don't know"

She doesn't respond. At all. I don't know if she knows I am alive. That she didn't kill me.

No yes. No no. Nothing.

"Can you hear me?"

Still nothing. We are waiting long enough. Her brain scans show minimal activity again. Maybe it was too much for today.

For 38 minutes with Jane wired up to several machines being asked questions and providing answers, at least we know more than we did yesterday.

We stop.

I carefully remove the electrodes from around her forehead one by one. Each tiny one a major part of the images of Jane's brain I would be able to view shortly. Each image would tell a part of the story. Each small part in combination would help us understand better.

When I finish my task I lean back and look at Jane but her eyes are now closed. I kiss her cheek and call the nurses in to take her back to her room.

The data shows the amount of activity although present is not as active as it would be in a normal healthy human brain. The brain imaging also shows large areas of complete inactivity. Inactivity is located in both areas of long-term and short term memory function. The amounts of dead or inactive areas could be likened to a person with a impact brain injury.

The machine readouts did show significant progress, that her brain had become more active since arriving. And the activity increased immediately after the questions were asked...except the last one. It was change. It was good.

I had always been a patient person in the past but right now It was going to be hard to wait for tomorrow. I wanted to help Jane. Without answers I couldn't, no-one could. Without questions we wouldn't find answers.

I silently beat myself up for not having the answers, for not knowing how to help fix her. What to say to bring her back. Every smart thing I knew was as worthless as dust. My intelligence was pointless.

 _"_ _Your intelligence is not what defines you, Maura. You are kind and generous and loving. And you are the best friend a person could ask for."_

The brain is such a marvelous thing, so much unknown about it, so many tiny perfectly functioning details. More intricate than the entire universe. The ability to understand, to absorb information, to recall facts, to analyze, determine, judge. To hold memories and create links. To understand and be understood. To know love.

 _"_ _Your brain is not what I love about you Maura. What I love about you is that you took my Mother in so now I don't have to."_

I feel the muscles in my face contract uncontrollably and I smile. A fond memory. Does the emotion attached to each memory come from the head or the heart. I feel it in my heart and see it in my head. It is like memories are a part of our being. Our soul.

I love and miss Jane so much it hurts. I would do anything to help her. I just wished I knew how.

A few hours later she has rested. And a few hours after that it's time to complete the night routine.

I decide to gently try again alone. I sit on the side of her bed and I put my hands in hers, right in left and left in right. It's not awkward at all now, it would feel strange talking to her any other way.

"Jane. It's Maura. I want you to know I am here for you, always. You know that right?"

Less than a minute later there is a gentle tug in my right right. Yes.

"I am alive, do you understand that."

Same tug. Yes. I hope it isn't an involuntary movements.

I hug her. I kiss her temple. I whisper in her ear "I love you Jane."

No more today. I will be patient, and wait.

* * *

DAY AFTER TOMORROW

A marionette is a puppet that is attached to strings and is controlled by the puppet master, hence MONARCH programming is also referred to as the Marionette Syndrome.

I get a stern telling off for my impromptu question yesterday. He threatens to have someone else take the session today but I can tell by the twinkle in his eye that he won't risk the developments already underway. His warnings I heed anyway, I will do it how it needs to be done. It is his facility and his rules. Even as his friend I respect his professionalism.

The next two days the sessions are early in the day when she is more rested. The questions clarify that the yes no communication is working perfectly.

We work out her response speed is slow taking from 130 seconds up to 430 seconds to physically respond. That is roughly between two and seven minutes. What we don't know is if the response time is to do with how quickly she can take in the new information and process it, how quickly she can reach a judgment on it or how quickly she can formulate the appropriate response. Or is it is a combination. More time and data might help clarify that over time.

Her response speed varies depending on the question. She is quicker to answer questions that relate to the present. If she is in pain, if she is tired, if she likes it here, if she likes the food. A part of the sessions are gently explaining the facility itself, the machines, the tests. But questions about her home, her job, about Jet, about being kidnapped and even Hoyt the answers become slow.

A few times she squeezes both hands.

"Am I going too fast?"

Every time was a no. Her comprehension is becoming quicker than we first estimated.

"Do you want to stop?"

Left hand. No.

"Do you understand?"

No.

The one response that puzzles us all was to the question. Is you name Jane. The double squeeze. She does not understand.

The question created high activity in the temporal lobes, a region previously showing little or no activity.

I didn't let on how much I was confused by that. And worried. Jane cannot explain...yet.

* * *

SIX AND A HALF

It was a rollercoaster of progress over the next few days.

I had moments of joy. Moments of anger and frustration. I had thought I had no expectations but I was wrong...I had hundreds.

When I sing to her I hold her hand. When I brush her hair I watch her eyes. When I tell her stories I watch the machines.

In the afternoons we walk in the gardens. Summer days mean it is warm later into the evening.

One time she moved her arm towards me. Her eyes follow me more often.

It all tells me one thing.

Red is no longer static.

Red is more like static electricity.

More like charged electrons that push away from equally charged electrons or drawn towards something with a different charge.

I feel it when I hold her hand. Maybe I am imaging it but it's like a charge, like tingling pins and needles. Or maybe it's from all the machines she is often hooked up to.

When I reach out to her she might pull away. When I pull away she might lean towards me.

She was physically responding with her entire body.

Angela is delighted, she arrives in a loud Italian fashion and spends a few hours with Jane. She talks the entire time just excited that Jane can hear her. She talks about everything especially Jane's brothers.

Meanwhile we continue to look for answers.

To unlock in her mind.

To understand.

We are searching for the key to open the door.

I developed an unhealthy habit. Late at night I walked the halls to gather my thoughts, to calm down my emotions. To think about what Jane revealed that day. The nurses didn't bother me when I did anymore, I guess they understood by now. I would pace the corridors at all hours when sleep alluded me, it was how I dealt with everything now.

Before this I would have done yoga or some breathing technique. Those things didn't seem to work anymore. So now I just walked. It felt right. I had no arrival time. No one waiting for me. I had no destination. No expectations.

Sometimes I would stop outside Jane's room. It was not my plan to come here. To be anywhere. It seemed to be my subconscious controlling my feet. Sometimes I turn away from her door and continue to pace, other times I go in and I sit beside her and stare at the wall. Once when I looked away from the wall Jane was staring up at me. For a moment I feel seen again. I felt hope again. All the expectations came back.

I gently stroked the side of her face and whispered "I'm sorry Jane. Did I wake you? Go back to sleep, honey." And she closed her eyes.

Tonight I pace until I am too tired to continue, till there is nothing left to think about, nothing left to feel. It must have been hours.

I wake groggily to the panicked thumping on my door. No one has ever woken me up here before. It is too early.

My chest tightens as I realize something must be wrong. Very very wrong.

I jump out of bed and open the door. It has been a long time since I cared how the person on the other side would see me, whether they will see my messy hair and a crumpled nightgown. The nurse doesn't seem to notice, she doesn't even look, she motions for me to follow her and rushes towards the main control room. I follow without thinking.

The room has not looked this busy or frantic since I have been here.

Hofstede looks up, his eyes wide and worried. He has a phone in his hand speaking to someone and is holding pages of data in the other hand. He looks appologetic as he tells me, "She's not herself"

I know it's bad. Hofstede knew Jane well enough for that statement to mean something significant to us both.

I feel sick and I slowly walk like a zombie towards the monitor he points at.

"Play the tape back."

* * *

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

Your comments rock! thank you for them :)

* * *

CHAPTER 9

* * *

SIX AND A HALF

 _"_ _Play the tape back."_

I stare at the monitor. Displayed in vivid black and white with green hue is video taken of Jane's hospital room. It is pitch black except for the blinking lights on the monitors and the dimmed lamp in one corner of the room.

She had been sleeping but suddenly the on screen monitoring data of Jane's vital signs goes haywire. Blood pressure and heart rate are extremely elevated.

In the video playback Jane has jumped or possibly fallen out of the bed and knocked over the side table. The pulse oximeter comes off her finger and the screen data flatlines causing the silent alarms to go off.

Jane then rolls into a ball on the floor and rocks slowly while holding her arm where the IV is inserted. The whimper is the only sound in the silence.

A few moments later a nurse rushes into the room and flicks on the light. The camera switches out of night vision and the first image in color is of the surprised face of Jane's night nurse, Lisa. She turns white as if she has seen a ghost.

Jane is in the fetal position on the floor her face covered by her free hand still rocking.

The drops of red blood only now visible stand out on the white floor from where Jane had half torn out her IV. As the nurse moves so does Jane. She withdraws away and quickly crawls under the bed pulling the IV line and pole over the top of the bed towards her. It topples and bounces against the bed and finally stops between the bed and the wall.

The bottoms of Jane's yellow pyjamas and bare feet the only parts of her visible.  
The yellow pyjamas with faint pink hearts that Angela brought for Jane to wear. That we had laughed about. That Jane would never wear if she had the choice.

A moment later another nurse appears and pushes her way into the room and past Lisa who stopped moving a few steps inside the doorway. Trudy, the second nurse and manager heads straight towards the bed. She is stopped in her tracks a few meters from the bed by a bloodcurdling scream.

The nurses give each other a look and the one near the doorway turns on her heals and heads into the hall. Trudy crouches down where she stopped and calls Jane's name softly over and over again while inching closer. Jane appears to be trembling under the bed.

Trudy gets close enough to turn off some off the monitor units and then sits on the floor still talking away in the direction of the bed.

She tries to move closer again but this time Jane crawls backwards away from her and out the other side of the bed crouching beside it, face poking over the top to watch Trudy.

They face each other, neither moving. Eye contact unbroken like a staring contest.

Trudy reaches out her hand towards Jane in a friendly gesture, but Jane stands up and with all her strength flips the bed over on its side as a barrier between the two of them, then squats on her feet behind the newly formed barrier hugging the frame of the bed.

The IV pole being pushed from its spot hits the floor with a metallic clunk, the bag bounces slightly, it's less than half full and blood begins to trickle backwards up the line slowly mixing with the clear fluids. Trudy cautiously moves towards the pole and turns the roller clamp off blocking the feed.

While the nurse is distracted Jane takes the opportunity to pick up some books that were knocked off the side table and flings them in the direction of the very stunned nurse. Jane's aim is terrible. Trudy moves backwards to stand in the doorway until Jane runs out of ammo to chuck. They stay that way until someone stops the tape.

The monitor changes to the present. To Jane still crouching behind the bed in her yellow pajamas. She is considerably calmer than she had been. Occasionally she crawls a few feet away from her spot in what appears to be a search for an escape. She constantly watches the door. She looks terrified. She likely feels confused and trapped.  
She had played with the needle half in her arm, winced, and left it alone.

Shock short circuited my logic and I am unable to form a sentence.

I feel nauseas.

I feel like the world around me is closing in.

Like my body has betrayed me.

Trudy rubs my back in small circles.

Dr. Hofstede squeezes my shoulder.

I feel happy that Jane is no longer catatonic and anger that this may be worse.

I am euphoric and anguished.

Jane is fixed and broken simultaneously.

It is a double-edged sword.

I stare at the monitor, I stare past it. I can't see it anymore.

Trudy speaks to me. She tells me that several doctors and nurses had tried to coax Jane out but her terrified demeanor caused them to back off.

They feared she could harm herself or the experience itself could harm her further.

Any other facility would have grabbed her forcibly, sedated her, and restrained her to the bed. I was so grateful to be here with people that knew that could cause incredible trauma. I had to fight the urge to hug Trudy in gratitude.

Trudy also tells me Jane did not appropriately respond to her name.

Her vocabulary had been limited to stop, no and go away.

Trudy asks if I will go in.

I want to run in.

I walk in.

* * *

 _'_ _Don't use her name. It might confuse her.'_ Hofstede says softly into my earpiece.

"Hey there."

My voice sounds strangled and so unlike myself that I almost look around to see who spoke. I sound afraid and strained. I take a deep breath to calm myself. I must be calm or I won't have much chance to assist in calming her.

The room is messy, it looks worse in reality than the cameras could show. Books scattered across the floor, the bed on it's side with pillows and blankets strewn everywhere. The side table lies on the ground it's drawers open and beside it a vase and flowers and a few cards and gifts that BPD had sent to Jane. There appears to be no one in the room but I know she is crouched behind the bed.

 _Forget-me-nots 'remember me forever'._

"Do you remember me?"

Two dark chocolate eyes peek at me over the top of the bed, I can see the uncertainty in them. I can see her knuckles white from clenching the bedsheets in fear.

I try to sound gentle and friendly just like I had observed Trudy.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

After I get no response I take another step closer. Her eyes follow me cautiously.

"Are you alright sweetie? Can you talk?"

I stand still and wait. I don't want to scare her and I really don't want her to scream at me. The brown eyes never leave mine and any tiny movement I make she observes with trepidation.

I wonder if she notices my unkept hair and lack of makeup.

I wonder what she thinks I want.

I take another careful step towards Jane preparing myself for the worst.

 _"_ _This is the calmest we have seen her with anyone inside the room. You're doing great"  
_ Hofstede's voice again crackles through the earpiece.

It gives me confidence. I manage a smile.

Then she speaks. The voice is like a child's voice. Tiny and very timid but much much higher than Jane's voice even when Jane is excited.

"Who _are_ you?"

It's not the response I was hoping for. But I cannot feel further shock from it. Shock has run completely dry. I feel nothing except worry.

And it's also not the voice I expected to hear. It doesn't sound like Jane at all.

My heart shouldn't pound this fast.

I shouldn't feel this disappointed.

I tell myself to suck it up.

That, no matter what, she desperately needs me right now.

That I have to be strong for her.

"I'm a friend, My name is Maura."

Her eyes are intense and study me carefully. She raises her head up so I can see more of her face. It's not an expression I have ever seen on Jane's face. Her bottom lip pokes out in a small pout. Her forehead is creased and her eyes squinting. Stubborn is written across her face.

'I is not spose' talk ta strangers"

There comes a moment in life when you see or hear something that contradicts what you know or understand to be reality, and a process happens involuntarily inside your mind. It flips your belief system completely upside down. You are suddenly faced with what you believed to be an impossibility that is so real you wonder if you are awake.

 _Cognitive dissonance - the mental discomfort or tension experienced by a person who simultaneously holds two or more contradictory or conflicting thoughts, beliefs, ideas, or values at the same time._

There are no words for when you look at your long time adult best friend and hear the voice and afflictions and language of a very small child, no phrase to sum up that deep down feeling when you know you are speaking with an actual child and not the adult that owned the body.

There's not way to verbalize the irreconcilable position of my mind that tries to connect what I hear with what it see.

I am confused. I am conflicted. My mind is in conflict.

 _Ambivalence - the coexistence within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing him or her in opposite directions._

My heart is contradiction.

Happy. Sad. Ecstatic. Misery. Joyous. Dread. Elated. Grief.

I wrap my arms around myself and hug myself but I can't feel it. I don't feel anything on the outside.

The inside is all emotion, jumbled feelings, and too much, too many. It hurts.

 _Project MONARCH could be best described as a form of structured dissociation and occult integration, in order to compartmentalize the mind into multiple personalities within a systematic framework._

I am sure this is a child alter of Jane's. A disassociated part of her personality. What I had read about but never personally witnessed before to this degree. The closest I had come was when Jane was under the control of Jet, but that wasn't really a personality, she had been emotionless, she had not spoken, she had just been an obedient slave.

 _Psychiatrist Colin A. Ross has stated that based on documents obtained through freedom of information legislation, that psychiatrists linked to Project MKULTRA claimed to be able to deliberately induce Multiple Personality Disorder using a variety of torture techniques._

I feel out of my depth. I am the least qualified non-patient in this entire facility to understand and deal with this situation and I cannot figure out why they sent me in.

"I'm not a really a stranger. We have met before."

It might be a lie.

She sucks her bottom lip and glares at me unconvinced, then her eye's flicker to the closed door behind me. She tightens and loosens her fists repetitively on the edge of the bed.

"What is your name?"

Her eyes dart back to mine quickly and she squints at me with defiant determination.

If the moment wasn't so serious I would laugh at her expression. It is the expression that has all the hallmarks of cautious determination that happens to make Jane such a great detective.

I remind myself this isn't Jane.

"My arm hurts."

The voice is like a young timid child. One I don't think Jane could use if she tried.

Trudy tells me _"You need to get the IV line out."_

I nod mostly to myself but I know they see me on the camera. They told me I would have to this before I went in. The way it was in her arm could do damage or cause infection.

"Do you want me to make your arm better?"

I crouch down onto the floor. I am not great with live people and even worse with children but I know body language. I know that she feels threatened. I know that everyone around her is perceived as a potential threat. So I try to appear to be non-threatening.

The brown worried eyes scope out the room again, particularly the door. I hope I am far enough away from it so it doesn't seem like a trick to her.

Then she looks back at me and her eyes look sad. It reminds me of when TJ wanted his boo-boo's kissed.

"Yes pweese"

The voice crackles much like Jane's when she is emotional.

I want to hug her.

I move slowly closer but she backs up.

"I won't hurt you. It's ok."

The words provide no visible comfort. She stops backing up only when she reaches the far wall as well as the extent of the IV line which is wrapped over the bed.

I stop and sit down on the floor. She mimics me.

"You have to come to me, sweetheart."

She studies me carefully and bites her knuckle.

I stay still and wait. If I move closer she could panic and injure herself.

Just when I think we have reached a stale-mate, she shuffles forward on her knees little by little.

When she is close enough for me to reach out and touch her she stops. She sits in a semi crouch with one leg under her. She looks like she is still preparing to flee. In Jane's body she looks rather awkward and uncomfortable.

I stretch my hand out towards her my palm open.

"Can I see your arm."

Her long arm starts to stretch out slowly, elbow first, and I see her hand is still clenched into a fist, her knuckles white.

 _'_ _Take it easy, you're doing great.'_

When her hand is close to mine I gently take her clenched fist. She flinches at the touch like I might strike her. Her body is stiff and her eyes go dark.

"I won't hurt you. I promise."

But children who are mistreated often hear those words while being beaten and abused. They may have the opposite meaning or even no meaning at all. I wonder what it means to her. If the words mean what they should. I can only hope they comfort her somewhat.

I gently yet forcibly open her clenched fist and caress her hand. She relaxes enough to allow me to do this.

I then turn all my attention to inspect her arm, I check it over like it might be the most important thing in the world and she looks at it intently as well. It's the first time she has taken her eyes off me for more than 5 seconds since I walked into the room.

"That looks really sore. I think we should take it out."

She presses her lips together in thought, her brow contracting.

I move my free hand to the needle and my other hand to the needle site. I press down on the insertion point and slowly slide it out along with the loose tape still stuck to it as gently as I can. I try not to break my promise, I try not to hurt her.

She doesn't squirm or cry but a single tear runs down her cheek.

If only I could reach out and brush it away, take her in my arms and comfort her completely. But naturally she is still wary of me. She does not know me. I am a stranger.

The skin is red from where the tape pulled earlier and the site is inflamed from the needle moving around uncontrolled, there is some dried blood and a few drops of fresh blood forming already. I press my fingers on it to slow the bleed. It will most definitely bruise. We will have to keep a very close eye on it over the next few weeks.

I bend forward and kiss just beside the raised red welt. As I lean back I feel her eyes move from her arm back to my face.

"All better?" I whisper.

I don't let go of her arm but take her hand again, she makes a feeble attempt to pull away but eventually relaxes just staring at me. Her fear appears to have greatly diminished.

Her face is softer and looks more like Jane's.

"Should we put a bandage on it?"

I see a hint of a smile on her lips but she still doesn't say anything.

I realize I will have to move to get to the drawers that contain bandages and alcohol wipes. I need to have her trust before I risk any new or big movements.

"What is your name?"

She looks down at my hand in hers for a moment and tugs gently away again and I release her hand.

I can't let her think I will control her. I want her to feel safe. Security is one of the most basic human needs. It is the first thing that they destroy during mind-control programming. And worse than taking it away repeatedly is that they promise it again and again and then beat the victim when they have any type of safety so they will fear even the _feeling_ of being secure. It is a layered trauma. It makes up down and down up. It makes nothing safe ever.

I know Hofstede will let me know if and when he sees indicators I need to be aware of.

Now she is free of me I can move towards the drawers, but I tell her first.

"I think the bandages are over here."

I move cautiously and she stays put.

I grab a few wipes and an bright orange bandage. It's a shame there aren't any kids bandages in the room. I'm almost excited when I find a lollipop amongst the supplies.

"Amy"

It is high-pitched but calm and clear.

 _Amy_

"Amy. What a pretty name"

It's what I hear teachers and parents respond when a child gives their name for the first time.

I move back towards her carefully and sit cross legged in front of her.

I reach out my hand again and she almost instinctively reaches out her arm. I wonder if that is a lagging catatonic response.

I carefully take her arm again and begin to gently wipe. First the inflamed area to ease the skin irritation and then the dried blood. She doesn't move or show she feels pain. For a young child she would be considered brave. I can almost see through the adult in front of me to the little girl inside.

"You are very _very_ brave, Amy."

I give her my softest most caring smile. And her eyes, now softer, stare at me.

It was extremely hard not to call her Jane.

I put the orange bandage over the wound and then I hold out the lollipop to her.

I am disappointed when she doesn't take it, until I realize her hand is still in mine. She might just be starting to trust me.

"My name is Maura Isles."

She doesn't move.

"You are going to be alright. No one here is going to hurt you. I promise."

I put the lollipop on the ground between us and she stares at it for a moment before looking up again. Her face is definitely softer and sweeter. And hopefully it is trust.

 _'_ _How old is she'_

"How old are you Amy?"

She turned her head on the side slightly like it was a complicated question and her fingers wiggled in my hand. For a moment I was confused until I realized she was stretching out her fingers that matched her age. Would she show me or tell me.

"Six and a half"

There was a childlike pride in her whispered voice.

"Wow, six and a half."

I had no idea what else to say. I wasn't good with the living. I felt silly that all I could do was repeat her. What do I say now?

What would Jane ask.

"Do you know Jane?"

She slowly shakes her head no and begins to fidget.

 _'_ _The personalities may be unaware of each other.'_

"Do you know where you are?"

She shakes her head again and looks at me expectantly.

"I'm sleepy"

The voice is again so unlike Jane yet coming from her is still surreal.

She looks sleepy. Droopy eyelids, slower blinks. It has been a very tiring and stressful morning for her. If she falls asleep it will be good. Mainly so I will get advise for what comes next. Also treating my best friend like a six year old was moderately uncomfortable.

"Do you want to go to sleep?"

She looks at the door again and at the same time tightens her hold on my hand.

"I'm scared."

"What are you scared of?"

She shakes her head and hugs her knees.

"There is nothing to be scared of here."

She shakes her head again. Eyes closed tightly.

"I will stay right here with you. ok?"

She slowly nods and then picks up the lollipop off the floor and clutches it in her fist like a prize.

"Shall we put the bed back up?"

She smirks at me and looks over her shoulder and the shambles behind her.

"Mmkay"

Together we upright the bed and then she looks at if as if determining whether to climb on it or under it. Finally she decides on top and looks at me from among the crumpled sheets.

I stand the side table up on its feet and put the fallen objects back onto it.

And when I turn to her I see she is looking at the pink teddybear with get well soon written on its belly. It was a gift from Korsak. It might even have been a joke.

"Would you like it?"

She looks at me and smiles.

She smiled.

It has been weeks since I have seen that smile. I memorise it.

I hand the bear to her and she wraps her arm around it tightly and lies down on the bed.

I pull the covers over her, Just like I have every night for the past few weeks.

"Keep me safe?"

I can hear the sound of myself swallowing. I force my eyes to stay dry as a hundred thoughts hit me at once as to why she is so afraid. Of what?

I nod and give her a comforting smile.

"Of course Amy"

"Sit?"

I sit in the chair beside the bed. The one I sat in so many nights wishing and hoping that Jane would wake up.

She curls into a ball and watches me. The lollipop still in her hand now tucked around a bear and under her chin.

She catches me by surprise when she reaches out her hand towards me, fingers outstretched. I take it in both mine and hold it tightly. Her eyes close as she drifts off to sleep.

I watch her sleep.

I ignore the voices in my earpiece. I can't hear what they are saying.

I hold her hand and ponder a million things.

I process this.

I reach over and push her hair out of her face.

I touch her cheek and she moves.

Everything is different now.

Everything has changed.

Red is not just red.

Red is less.

Red has become more.

Red has transformed.

Right now I want to run away.

This was not what I hoped for or expected.

This was not what I would call progress.

She sees, she hears, she speaks...but she is six and a half years old.

Hearing your grown up best friend look at you like a complete stranger and speak to you like a child...there are just no words.

I sit holding her hand and wonder if it is Amy's hand I will be holding when she wakes.

* * *

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

Loving the comments. This chapter is a little shorter cause the next is getting really long. Trying to get as much written and published for you guys in case I get crazy busy in life or hit a writers block. Lemma know if you like where it's going...I'm sure you will :) Blessings.

* * *

Chapter 10

 _'_ _She sees, she hears, she speaks...but she is six and a half years old.'_

I never leave her side just like I promised her.

I stay holding her hand when the nurses come in.

I fixed my hair and got dressed in her room and I ate lunch while she slept.

She looks peaceful except for the occasional worried frown.

She snores a little. Her breathing is even almost all the time.

Dr. Hofstede came in a bit later and talked to the nurses about medications for Jane.

They discuss it without me and I don't mind. It is too much right now anyway.

It all seems so simple but yet so complicated.

And when Amy wakes up she is hungry and the sticky lollipop vanishes immediately.

She is six and a half and can do absolutely everything all by herself.

She takes herself to the bathroom.

She brushes her own teeth.

She dresses herself.

She tries to fix her own hair. I help just a little because she 'can do it without help'.

She is only allowed small meals as her stomach had shrunk while on a fluid diet.

She loves jello and cookies.

She hates needles which may be a new fear or an old phobia.

She is extremely introverted when she isn't being obnoxiously loud.

She draws, she skips and she wants to play with every toy at least once.

She asks me to read her one of Chelsea's books.

She knows exactly 14 big words in the whole book. She points out every one.

She tells me there should be more pictures in it and the ending is wrong.

She names her teddybear Bass without prompting. I wonder if a subconscious part of her somehow remembers my tortoise.

She stares at the pictures on the ceiling when she isn't playing.

She calls me Mara because it's easier.

She is a regular six and a half year old. Except she isn't.

She cannot stay this way forever I plead silently to nobody.

She hides behind me when anyone enters the room and peeks over my shoulder.

She squeezes my hand or arm when she is scared which is often in the beginning.

Like when the nurses get too close too quickly.

Like when any male enters the room.

Like when a tray is dropped in the hallway.

Like when a bird flies into the window.

When she feels cooped up we go outside.

She walks beside me, then in front. She skips a little when we are away from prying eyes.

We looks at the birds. She holds out her arms to the fantails when they fly close.

We smell the flowers. She thinks the pink magnolias smell the prettiest.

She takes off her shoes and won't put them back on.

She tells me I should do too because it feels nice.

I discover she is right. It is like a spongy warm moss under my toes.

She runs in the long grass.

She watches the clouds.

She sings made-up songs to herself.

She tries to make a daisy chain and she gives it to me to wear.

She puts the soles of her bare feet against mine and throws her head back and laughs.

I watch her feed the ducks and call to them when then dive under the surface.

She sniffles when she stands on a sharpish stone. She doesn't cry.

I brace myself to hug her in case she doesn't know her own strength.

She mostly observed in the beginning and then, when she feels braver, she asks me questions about nothing and everything.

"Do you go to work? What do flowers eat? Can I walk on clouds? Do you have kids? Do you like pink? Why is water sometimes cold? Are you sad? Did that bird go home? Do like to eat mud pies? Does everyone have 10 toes?"

She tells me my answers are wrong a lot.

I am exhausted.

Then she sits beside me on the park bench where I used to take Jane.

She rests her head against my shoulder and lets me put my arm around her.

She snuggles closer and sighs in contentment.

I asked her questions too. I asked her what school she goes to, about her friends, if she has brothers and sisters, where her mum and dad are, where she lives.

She can't pronounce the name of her school but she tries anyway. Her teacher has white hair. She has a pink backpack and a special place at school with her name on to hang it up. Her lunchbox has a my little pony on it with a rainbow tail. Her friends are Jenny who likes barbie dolls, Mikey who has a red bike and no mummy and Susan whose big brown dog named Bob loves to eat tennis balls. She has a tabby cat named Molly. A yellow bird named Polly. And a sister named Cindy. She wants a horse that she would name Princess Buttercup. There is a monster in her closet her dad named 'Beansilly'. She has a giraffe nightlight because she is scared of the dark. She lives in a big white house with a red front door in California. She doesn't know where her mum and dad are all the time but that is ok. She is not scared when she is not home. She visits lots of places but only for a little while. She is scared when she wakes up in a strange place alone but mostly she is scared of bad men in white coats.

She fidgets a lot when she talks about herself and doesn't make a lot of eye contact.

She reacts to my feelings. She is very perceptive. She frowns when she thinks I am sad and smiles when I appear happy. So I hide my feelings from her, so save her from worrying.

When the sun begins to get low in the sky and we head back.

She lets go of my hand and then lags too far behind me and I call to her, "Jane, come on."

She stops and stares at me.

A blank stare.

I hold my breath. I realize my mistake.

She doesn't move.

My brain jumps to the word Catatonia. My heart says _not again_.

"Amy?"

She blinks twice. Then twice again. She frowns. Then she looks at me and she smiles with recognition. Amy skips towards me and takes my hand. We walk back hand in hand, side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

She sleepily eats her dinner, takes her medication and falls asleep playing with Bass her pink bear.

THE BRAVE ONE

Dr. Cisco Hofstede comes in later to talk to me. I tell him about our outing, about Amy's life and memories, about her freezing and blank look when I called her Jane.

I tell him I am afraid and that I can't even describe why exactly. He nods slowly. I think he might feel the same but he doesn't say. I have drawn off his strength so he stays strong for me. He is a good friend and one I am sure I don't deserve.

I ask him why...Why is Jane like this?.

He gives me the gentle safe protective answer.

"Different aspects of a traumatized persons personality compartmentalized individually to handle different things."

He doesn't really need to tell me because I already knew. I also know the hair-raising, blood-curdling, disconcerting version of the answer. I know that the alters, or soul fragments, are segregated and compartmentalized within the victim's mind by the repeated use of torture, many of which are inhumane, which isolates the memories of their experiences. And that the alters sometimes create a safe pretend place they imagine they are in while undergoing extreme torture because the reality is literally just too unbearable. I wonder if that is what happened to Jane. If that is why there is an Amy. If that is why she has a fantasy family and friends but is afraid of bad men she can't name in long white coats.

Cisco tells me about other people in the facility, that multiple personality disorder is not uncommon here.

"Some survivors know they live out of other parts inside but many do not. Some can switch to other parts at will but others are passively triggered and have little control over alters. Fragmented parts of a person can look different in facial expressions, can sound different, and act differently than each other and they also can hold different beliefs."

He tells me about a patient he had here with 14 personalities a few years ago and that the man had recovered completely. He tells me a little about the famous cases of Truddi Chase with 92 personalities and also Chris Sizemore whose alter almost killed her own child. He tells me each personality may have a separate autobiographical memory, independent initiative and a sense of ownership over individual behavior. That all the personalities will be different when it comes to attitude, age, sex, and even weight.

He tells me just as much as I can cope with and no more.

Doctors studying patients with multiple personality disorder have discovered something strange. One of the personalities possessed by a certain patient needs glasses for their eyes. But, another of the same patient's personalities does not need glasses for their eyes. Or, one of the patient's personalities is diabetic and another of the same patient's personalities is not diabetic. When the patient switches from one personality to another, their body actually goes through real changes, such as differences in blood sugar levels. And brain imaging shows different parts of the brain are more active with different personalities especially the areas with memories.

I had put my feelings aside. I had chosen not to dwell on things or think too hard. I had focused on only the present. On getting to know and understand Amy. To figure out how to find Jane. Now everything comes to the surface. Now I cry, I shake as I sob. It is cathartic and I feel better.

Cisco tells me it will take time. He tells me there is hope. He tells me it will get better. He tells me we will make it right. He helps me to smile again.

I spend almost three full days with Amy and I grow to love and care about her. She is gentle and sweet most of the time, cautious and timid the rest of the time. She tells me she is the happiest she can ever remember being. She talks less about her pretend family memories and more about what's around her. She shuts down whenever we talk about what she fears. And she physically shies away from sudden or large movements. I don't need the child psychologist to tell me that they are classic signs of abuse but he does anyway.

As the days pass she becomes fearlessly inquisitive yet I can tell she is still holding back. She gains confidence around the nurses who sometimes cannot wait till she sleeps to check on her.

I phone Angela and ask what Jane was like as a little girl. She describes child Jane, there are some similarities but not enough. From the description Amy is more reserved and yet more trusting than Jane was as a child. Jane hated pink yet Amy loves it. I tell Angela not to come up tomorrow as planned. She is disappointed but agrees not to come if that's what is best. I did not tell her the exact details of why.  
I do tell Angela that things are improving, that she likes the yellow pajamas after all. I also tell her that Jane is off the IV fluids and is on new medication that may help. Angela calls out the news excitedly to whomever is in the background.

During breakfast I accidentally call her Jane again and this time she looks confused.

"Who is Jane?"

"She is a dear friend of mine."

"Oh" She swirls her porridge around the bowl with the back of her spoon and swings her legs under the chair, deep in thought.

"An imme-image-imaginary friend?"

I chuckle and she smiles. She always smiles when I laugh.

"No sweetheart, she is very real."

Amy looks around the room slightly perplexed "Where is she then?"

"Well..."

I point towards her heart

"...I suppose she is sort of inside there with you."

She looks down and blinks a few times. And when she looks up at me again her eyes suddenly go wide and she stares at me in surprise.

"I _remember_ you." She points at me and squints as if she is trying to remember something. Her voice has changed dramatically. It is deep and growly, almost angry. It is an older voice. Closer to Jane's voice in depth but nothing like Amy's.

I know I jumped. And I know she knows she scared me. She sits back quickly and pulls her pointed finger back to herself mumbling a sorry that does not sound genuine in the slightest.

I clear my throat, "You remember _me_?"

I can see her thinking, recalling something, "You were lying on a bed, maybe it was in a hospital. And you were tied up. A man with a scarred face and a sharp blade was going to kill you. He cut your neck a little bit."

She looks at my neck and in a monotone voice she adds "I killed him."

Her words are void of infliction. There is no emotion in it, or in her eyes that study my neck for a mark, for evidence of her statement.

I swallow heavily and she looks from my throat to my eyes, my face.

"I..."

She raises her eyebrows at me questioning, waiting.

"Jane?" I ask. I know it isn't Amy because the voice isn't as high and childish, and the eyes are more intense and less trusting.

She laughed like I was being silly, like it was a joke. It was a short laugh. It was a laugh much like Frankie's.

She shakes her head at me still smirking, "No."

* * *

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

* * *

 _"_ _Jane?"_

 _She shakes her head at me still smirking, "No."_

My brain tries to think logically. Tries to remember the questions I had memorized to ask if this exact situation happened. There was silence. It felt like you could cut the tension with a knife. Each of us seemed to be waiting for the other to speak.

For starters I was supposed to ask who I was speaking with and where Amy had gone. I couldn't quite get the words into order before she questioned me.

"Do _you_ remember me?" she asks in her new gruff way. She looks at me with a hope in her eyes. Like that memory, that connection, is somehow important to her. Like she might be quite alone and knowing me might be a little less lonely. That her memory was real.

I thought back to when Jane killed Hoyt. I remembered Jane was lying on the bed tied up, I could hear the fear in her voice, she wasn't struggling much, she was pinned down. He said he would kill me and she could watch. She was absolutely terrified. I could hear her screaming for him to leave me alone. I could hear it all but I couldn't move. Hoyt tells me I will feel a little pinch. Jane screamed for him to stop. Then she managed to fight both attackers with her hands zip-tied, she head butted the accomplice, she fought Hoyt and got the scalpel off him, managed to get on top of him, she had said 'I win' and then stabbed Hoyt in the chest.

Then Korsak and Frankie had entered the room and shot the accomplice. And then Jane had cried, really cried, It was desperate and afraid and unusual. I thought she was in shock. I thought it was fear and relief.

I had asked her afterwards how she did it, how she had the strength to fight them both. How she had fought a man with a gun and a man with a scalpel while tied up. She had though about it for a moment. Then she told me she didn't know, that it was like something took over in her. I think everyone assumed that it was adrenaline. That she wasn't going to let him win and she wasn't going to let anything happen to me either.

"I - I..."

Her eyes look downcast like a shadow crossed her face. Like the hope is being sucked away. And I can't bear it.

I force a smile. I hide my shock, my confusion.

"Of course I remember."

It isn't exactly a lie. I remember Jane had done something surprising and almost impossible. I remembered she had saved my life. I remember every detail of that day. I remember what she did and how she did it. This Jane or whoever she was had saved my life.

And the sadness in her eyes disappears and she gives a subtle smile.

If it hadn't been Jane after all...If it was a _part_ of her, an alter, then it had surfaced to fight where Jane couldn't. Where the fear was too great and it had crippled Jane. This was an alter of hers, a personality. It had saved my life.

"I - I never got to say thank you. For...for what you did. For saving my life" I stumble over my words.

"It was nothing." She says without an ounce of humility.

There were a few moments when a badass Jane came out that had been a little more fearless and risky than usual, that had seemed completely fearless. Even if for only a few moments. I mean Jane is a badass for sure...but it was almost an uncontrollable version of Jane. The one that lost it at suspects or in interrogations and had to be hauled out of the room. The one that defied orders and didn't seem to care about the consequences. The one I yelled at for being reckless and not thinking about her family and friends.

I recall the police report where Alison Sands forced Jane to shoot her. Or 'Suicide by cop' as was the official incident heading. " _I wasn't going to shoot her. She told me I would have too. I told her I wouldn't. Then she pushed the hostage away and raised her gun at me. I guess it was instinct because the next thing I knew she was lying dead on the ground. I had shot her. I shot her. I killed Alison Sands."_ The report stated that Korsak burst into the room after the gun fired. That Jane was found in a state of shock as she stood over Alison's dead body. I had asked Korsak about it and he told me that at the time she appeared to be confused. He said he thought she was in shock and that under the circumstances he thought he would be the same. But when it was discussed afterwards that she had shown no remorse.

When I was doing the autopsy Jane came down to see me. I remember her face when she saw Alison on the slab, she looked saddened by it.

So there was the Jane that didn't want to hurt Alison and possibly the alter that would do whatever needed to be done for them both.

I wondered if Jane even knew that she had this protective alter...that she somehow _needed_ it. Had all this come about because of Hoyt or before Hoyt, or was there more...had it been there longer. Had it _always_ been there. Jet had said Jane was a perfect candidate, he had said...

 _"_ _...she had a history of disassociation, it is in her DNA. It is genetic. She had already created alters to survive before we even found her. She had PTSD. She was the perfect candidate."_

Was he telling the truth, was he alluding to something more sinister in her past. Had she been abused or had something traumatic happened to her as a child. Genetic?. Or was jet playing a sick mind game with me. The truth is I would probably never know for sure.

 _One of the primary reasons that it named Monarch programming was because of the Monarch butterfly. The butterfly's migration period is longer than the lifespan of the butterfly, but the baby butterflies that are born on route still end up traveling to the same place. The butterfly never meets its mother, it has to fend for itself and experiences little kindness. The Monarch butterfly learns where it was born and it passes this knowledge via genetics on to its offspring. This was one of the key animals that tipped scientists off, that knowledge can be passed genetically._

But right now I needed to know more about this character intently studying me with Jane's eyes.

"Dr. Isles right?"

I nod feebly.

She smiles at me, just the corner of her mouth, slyly. "I never got to talk to you afterward. Good to see you are alright. I'm Maddy."

She pushes her arm out and takes my hand shaking it rather roughly. Then she lets go and crosses her arms across her chest. She looks around the room taking it all in, like everything is new, like she doesn't know exactly where she is.

"His name was Hoyt." I inform her.

She furrows her brow in confusion.

"The man that was going to hurt us. The one that um...you killed. He was a serial killer."

"Ahh ok. I thought he was your crazy boyfriend or something." She says somewhat disinterested with a shrug.

I catch my mouth dropping open. This personality doesn't know who Hoyt is even though he was after Jane, or essentially after them all. Even though he hurt her, then stalked her, and hurt her again. Had sent others to hurt her as well. Maddy had saved me, Maddy had helped Jane, and Maddy didn't know why.

"If you don't mind me asking. How old are you Maddy?"

She rubs the back of her neck. She was stalling, internally debating if I was safe to open up too. She didn't seem the type to trust many people.

She make's eye contact. "It's actually Madison but I prefer Maddy. I'm almost 19. But I'm real tough for my age." She gives me a weak smile.

"It's nice to make your acquaintance." I smile back.

"You always talk like that? So proper like?" She scrunches her face up as she says 'proper'.

She is similar to Jane in stupendous ways. They are both badass, both outspoken and they both think being proper is peculiar. The biggest differences so far between Maddy and Jane is the voice, the facial responses and the obvious missing sarcasm.

"Yes."

I think I should be able to Maddy from Jane fairly easily if the need arises.

"So Maddy, Where do you live?"

The stall is obvious as she pushes Amy's bowl of cold, half-eaten porridge across the table with her outstretched finger. She stares straight ahead at the large window and contracts her masseter muscle causing her jaw to protrude into her cheek indicating she is clenching her teeth. Anger, pain, distrust. I can't be sure. Not until she chooses to open up. Getting Jane to open up was hard enough and she was my best friend. This may be impossible.

I reach out my hand towards hers across the table but she quickly withdraws her own before mine is even close. I place my hands on my lap and try to think up another question to ask instead. It wasn't meant to be personal, just conversation. Now every possible question about her could be a loaded one.

Then she surprises me by turning towards me with a half smirk and answering.

"Streets. By myself."

I look down at my hands clasped in my lap. I can't look at her. I can't bear to watch her say that she is alone and unloved in the world as if it's somehow normal, somehow acceptable.

I can't bear to see her face so brave and tough. I went through _feeling_ uncared and unloved as a child and it hurt me. This personality _is_ unloved, uncared for, forgotten and she doesn't show the hurt at all. She hides it. Keeps it to herself. She is truly brave.

"Did he hurt you too?" Her voice cracks ever so slightly at the end and she clears her throat quickly to hide it. There is pain in her eyes, or fear. It is only there for a split second so I can't be sure which or if it was anything at all. I remember when Hoyt had escaped custody Jane said she had never been so afraid in all her life.

"Hoyt? No, no not really."

Maddy looks at the ground again, and she rubs her forearm slowly in long slow strokes. In much the same way Jane rubs the back of her hands. There are other subtle similarities between them. I could understand why some experts believed people with Disassociation Identity Disorder are faking it, or merely people that were particularly suggestible. But that claim does more harm than good even if it was pretend. If anyone was determined to fake this type of disorder, to pretend to be many people all vastly different, to act like a child in front of everybody or pretend to hide pain when they are sure they have to be brave, then they needed as much help as those that aren't pretending at all.

"No. Not Hoyt..." It's a whisper, maybe this brave and fearless personality of Jane's is afraid of something after all. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and crosses her arms defensively. "Jet."

I get it, I understand, and my heart feels like a steamroller ran over it. I cannot breathe until the pain eases. I cannot speak until my throat stop clenching. I cannot see until the wetness in my eyes dry up.

"Jet hurt you, Maddy?"

Maddy had probably taken most of, if not all of, the trauma inflicted by Jet. She had protected Jane. That's why Jane didn't remember what happened when she came back. Jane had been locked somewhere inside. Somewhere safe. Maddy was the tough one, the protective one.

She nods quickly and looks away with a shrug. She pushes her toughness to the front to cover any pain.

Maddy may remember what happened, everything that happened. But she is asking me if he hurt _me_ as well, she is worried about _me_. She saw me look down and not be able to look at her and she cared about me and why. I would hug her if I was sure she wouldn't punch me in the face.

I could truly say in that moment I loved the personality of Madison completely for her selflessness and her bravery. I couldn't help it. I loved that she had sacrificed and bore a terrible burden to keep Jane safe, and Jane's mind safe. This brave young girl was a part of Jane after all. It was the part of Jane that gave till it hurt. The part that hurt for others. That put others first. Jane lost her unborn child saving a young girl she barely knew. Jane jumped off a bridge to stop a man drowning she had met once. Jane shot herself to save her brother. Jane was alone in her fear, her suffering, her loss, just as Maddy was.

Jane was brave, and it seemed Maddy was all of the bravest parts of Jane. But Maddy didn't have family and friends around her when she was suffering like Jane. Maddy did not protect and fight for herself and there was no-one to fight for her and protect her.

"I'm so sorry Maddy."

She looks back at me confused, her head tilts to one side.

"Why? You didn't do anything."

She hadn't been seeking comfort or sympathy. She didn't need me to care for her, didn't expect me to care at all. She was used to having no-one care for her. She probably wouldn't even understand why I did care for her. To her we were practically strangers. Yet she was trying to care for me, to build a trust connection between us for my sake.

"I'm sorry you were hurt."

She half smiles again and puffs her chest out, "Sokay, I'm tough. I can handle it better than anyone."

She doesn't ask where Jet is, she doesn't ask for help, for protection, she just does what she does. And to a degree she seems proud of her tough bravado and survival.

"You didn't deserve it you know."

She says nothing, just stares at the window again, or through it.

"How do you cope with the pain?"

I ask because I had read stories about alters that tried to commit suicide because the pain was to great. They would overdose on pills or cut themselves. The front persona would wake up with cuts on their arms or in hospital or sometimes worse. Madison seemed extraordinarily stable but I had to know Jane would be safe. Jane who had no control and no voice right now. I had to be sure that Madison wouldn't harm herself and harm them all. It would be easy to put her and them all on anti-depressants.

She looks uncomfortable. She wraps her arms around herself defensively and pushes her long legs in front tipping the chair so only the back legs of the chair are on the ground. "I got bigger stuff going on than that. But sometimes I get drunk." She chuckles. "I'm old enough too."

I decide to drop it for now. I don't want to push her while we are alone anyway.

"Where is Amy?"

Maddy grunts, "She is fine, don't worry about her."

"I see. And where is Jane?"

"I, um, I dunno." she shrugs again.

Maddy _knew_ of Amy and Jane. Why did she not know where Jane was. Did she see through their eyes or just know of them or somehow know when they needed help. I remembered reading that when a personality came close to revealing something secret or taboo or was in danger that suddenly a new personality would come out and shut down the whole process. Was Maddy protecting Amy too. Was Maddy protecting them all from me. From this place.

She put the feet of the chair back on the ground.

"It's nice to be out. So what is there to do around here?" She runs her hand through her hair.

I study her for a moment or two, I am not ready to stop but it seems she had decided it was enough "What do you want to do?"

"I'd really like a beer."

* * *

LIFE LONG BEST FRIENDS FOREVER

Sometime later when Amy doesn't re-emerge, I get approval to take Madison out for lunch. We go to a local cafe bar. The beer was great, and it was nice to leave the facility after so long. We have an driver and escort that will watch and wait until we are ready to leave. It is also protection for me 'just in case'.

I didn't feel I needed it. I felt comfortable around Madison. It was almost like hanging out with Jane except the sarcasm, complaining and her funny quips were missing. My brain almost added _Jane_ into the conversation anyway. Habit.

The game was on but here far from Boston it wasn't the Red Sox being cheered for by the few supporters hanging about. I didn't recognise the teams and Madison had no interest in sports. She rolled her eyes every time cheering broke out.

She hid how nervous she was. But the tough street kid bravado versus the cafe with waiters in ties and printed menus was almost comical. She squirmed in her chair. Fidgeted with the utensils on the table. She looked around every few minutes like it might suddenly end. Madison was unfamiliar with this environment. I read the menu out to her as she was too busy being awkward to read it, or possibly couldn't read it. If she couldn't she wouldn't in a million years admit it. And I would not embarrass her by asking.

"Burger or pizza?"

"Nuh" she grunts, "Never liked either much."

Well call me gobsmacked. I had assumed. Jane's favorite foods were pizza and burger with fries.

They say that when you ass-u-me that you make an **ass** out of yo **u** and **me**. I certainly felt foolish.

"I like fish mostly."

She proceeded to tell me where you could get good fresh fish at the Boston docks and how to grill it on an open flame. She also told me where to get the best free food. Some of the people that let her crash on their couches. She called it couch-surfing. She stopped rambling about it when she saw the mortified look on my face.

It wasn't exactly a seafood restaurant and there was only one item on the menu for fish which I order as well as 2 bottles of the local beer. When the waiter brings over the plates and drinks Madison glares at him suspiciously. She drinks her beer straight from the bottle and she watches how I eat and tries to copy me. I am delighted she doesn't eat it straight off the plate with her fingers. She loves the food and groans with delight as she eats it.

"This is outta this world."

We talked about lots of things. Places and people. Food and culture. I was surprised she had never eaten Italian food. I wondered if she even was Italian. She liked art and her eyes sparkled a little on that topic. But she dismissed me when I suggested she should take classes. She was reserved about her goals and dreams. If I had to guess, which I won't, I would say she has given up on any future. She isn't interested in marriage, children or a career. She talks like things might be unobtainable and hopeless, merely a fantasy. There is a sort of sadness in her eyes. I had never seen that look in Jane's eyes.

I hadn't seen that look in some time but it haunted me. I had seen it when I had travelled into third world countries to help care for sick children. One particular deeply entrenched memory was when I stayed in Bogota for two weeks. I watched as the small children rummaged through mountains of rubbish. It was unsanitary and dangerous as they clambered barefooted over piles of rubbish and waste stacked at least two stories high. Everything in their homes, which were tin shacks in the slums with no doors or windows built entirely from what they could source around them, had also been collected from the rubbish that the richer people had thoughtlessly discarded. People like me. People that had too much and didn't realize how blessed they were.

I had asked about what the children would do when they grew up and the translator told me that if they were really lucky they would be able to do what their parents did. The girls would think themselves extremely fortunate if they were able to earn money as a working girl. This they would do to support their families from when they turned 12. And the boys hoped to have a job clearing the mountains of rubbish just like their fathers. Their aspirations were limited to food to eat and a roof over their head. None of them thought they would ever own a home, a car or have a career. None aspired to be teachers or doctors. Very very few of them even bothered to go to school.

I had felt physically sick from the experience. I had seen first hand a type of poverty that destroys the will of a human. I had seen the dull apathetic looks in their despondent faces. Dirty faces, torn clothing and hungry screaming babies. I had gone into their homes to treat them with good food in my own stomach and I had returned to my hotel room to involuntarily empty it.

I then returned to my fancy house, expensive car and rich upper class friends and I felt disgusted with myself for all the things I had taken for granted. All the money I had wasted on things I didn't need and for the hundreds of shoes I owned that cost more than what most people made in a week. And worse I began to not only judge my own lifestyle but those around me. I became obsessed with living simplistically until my own family almost disowned me.

It was Ian that reminded me that my behavior and attitudes weren't going to change the world. Living in anger or self-inflicted poverty wasn't going to feed the hungry. And judging my acquaintances wouldn't give those without a dime to their name a brighter future. Eventually I found a balance and entered the world of the living again. I worked at free clinics and gave to charities. I volunteered to help the homeless and ran charity dinners to raise money for disaster relief. I leaned to be grateful with what I had. Eventually I was able to live in a throw-away society without despising it. Eventually I was able to buy shoes again without revulsion.

I wondered how many street kids in America had given up on a future, had lost hope in everything except surviving. I became grateful not just for the things I had but the endless possibilities I had in front of me. Freedom to choose a career I wanted, to live a life, any life, I liked. To give and receive. I began to chose my friends based on who they were inside and not their wealth. And that was when I met Jane. Someone who saw hope in every person and strived to give even those lower in status than her a brighter future. The way she loved and cared for those around her. The way she fought for those unable to fight for themselves.

Part of me wanted to rescue Maddy from the dangerous life she lived and the other part knew that Jane had a career and a home and a hope filled future. Feeling sympathy for this alter was oddly strange.

Maddy was able to change topics with ease when she didn't want to talk about something in particular. I am not so great at it myself. I try to use humor and continually fail. She chuckles at the faces I make telling jokes rather than the jokes themselves.

She knew about the tattoo on her arm. She traced the invisible shape of it with her fingers like she knew it in great detail. But she refused to talk about how she got it.

The hardest part for me was when she talked about sex shamelessly but with disrelish. She was without Jane's demureness. And sex was not something beautiful and special to her. It was likely that something unpleasant had happened to Maddy to cause this type of response.

I needed another drink.

And then another beer after that Maddie moves to sit beside me and throws her arm comfortably around my shoulder and places a soft and slightly sloppy kiss on my cheek.

After the kiss she gently brushes my shoulder with her fingertips and they graze down my arm to my elbow. I look at her in surprise and she winks at me.

"Oh how I have missed you." She practically whispers it into my ear and the affection is clear in her tone along with the hint of teasing. She tickles the back of my neck with her fingertips and shows me her dimples.

I continued to stare at her, surprise on my face, my heart doing something bizarre until she laughs. Her laugh is soft and sweet, it was exactly like Jane's laugh. My heartstrings tugged.

Jane? But it wasn't Jane, not quite.

When I don't respond immediately she frowns softly and leans closer sliding her hand around my back. It does not aid my current disposition but rather hinders my ability to speak.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was louder than Jane's and rolled with pronounced confidence.

I don't know if I am. I try to smile to give myself confidence. I nod weakly.

"I'm Katie." She says seductively and wiggles her eyebrows unabashedly at me.

That was how I met Katie. I didn't even know there had been a switch. The transition from a laid back tough 18 year old to a flirty lesbian was impossibly smooth. It was a transition with no physical markers or identifiers.

Finally when my heart stops pounding I respond with a squeak of a hi.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

C hapter 12 won't be as fast coming as it's barely written yet. To answer the comment about how many alters Jane has...I really don't know yet. lol. I also haven't a clue how this story will end or if it will even be a happy ending. The future here is unknown just like real-life. And remember...I want me to hurry up just as much as you do. If you do know anyone with DID (Disassociate identity disorder) remember to support them as much as you can. I read today that sometimes just diagnosing someone with DID can take up to 7 years...so lucky that Jane has Maura. Thanks for your comments, I'm relying on them now more than ever. :)


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

 _"_ _I'm Katie." She says seductively and wiggles her eyebrows._

* * *

Her smile is contagious, it always was. I recognize her, I have seen her before and I am sure quite often until she almost completely vanished. When Jane told me we could only be friends.

I don't need to say much as she leads the conversation and reminisces on moments we shared together. I'm not sure I could say much. My voice seems lost somewhere.

She seems to know almost everything Jane knew. Not that she was eager to talk about Jane.

She laughs as she talked about Merch club and she tells me my how my outfit had her mesmerized and unable to think properly. She talks about her high school reunion and how happy she secretly was when Casey had been unable to go with her so I came. She play punches me in the arm when talking about Giovanni trying to lick my face. She tells me the moment she put her arms around my waist in the workshop that something changed. She tells me it was a battle with Jane whose friendship ran deep for me to have any moments alone, just the two of us without Jane. She spoke of the times I had shot her down and how disappointed she found it when I was dating men even though on the outside she encouraged it. Or jane encouraged it.

She asks me if I received mixed signals regarding her interest in me, but then doesn't give me an opportunity to answer. She talks a mile a minute which is interspersed with long caring stares and soft smiles and occasional seductive blinks. At times she giggles for no apparent reason. She certainly isn't as coy as Jane was. She touches my forearm when she speaks and my the back of my hand several times. She smiles with longing in her twinkling eyes. There is a certain hopefulness in her eyes neither Amy or Madison possess.

She was a louder bolder and more brazen Jane, but her expressions mimicked moments I had with Jane. And she swaggered to the bar for more drinks in a way that got the attention of everyone in the room. While I waited for her return I processed it all. It was hard to separate myself from the situation because all I wanted was to enjoy the here and now. In some weird way I felt as close to having Jane back as I had felt in all the weeks since the shooting. But it didn't feel quite right either and I could probably ignore the nagging inside but maybe I shouldn't.

She returned with two red wines and a cheekily sweet smile. She was flirty and girly, flicking her hair, telling me she was sorry she was not in a pretty dress. I think I always perfered her in jeans and a tee-shirt but I couldn't tell her that. She told me the designers of outfits and about shoes she had seen in a window of shops she would love to buy. I was fascinated by this deviation from all the other personalities.

When I finally found my voice and she allowed me to speak she, unlike Jane, seemed to hang on my every word.

I asked if she remembered the last few weeks at the facility and being catatonic. She didn't. I asked if she knew where Jane was. Her mouth said no, but her eyes said maybe. She knew of Madison but not Amy. She didn't seem disturbed by anything I told her. I guess she was used to sharing a body with Jane anyway...for what sounded like a long time. She looked disinterested in any discussions about anybody other than us.

I remembered Hofstede trying to explain the amnesia walls. That one or more alters may know some of the other alters, that there was often a heirachy from original to newest. And that the front alter as well as others often never even knew there were others. Sometimes some were even prevented from access to memories or personalities.

What I found most interesting was when I asked Katie about being a lesbian and the view of the church and how her family felt about it, she laughed in a carefree way and crinkled her nose, "I am not catholic. Jane might be but not me. No way...no how."

She reached out and brushed an invisible piece of hair away from my forehead and traced her fingertips down the side of my face. She leaned in close and whispered softly in my ear, "You do know you were _always_ my type."

I shudder involuntarily. Words I had wanted to hear for so long but not words I wanted to hear from anyone but Jane.

The cases of MPD or DID I had read about were often alters that were nothing like the original or main personality. They could be men or woman, gay or straight, tall or short, european or ethnic. One alter could be married to another alter or even the child of one of them. There could be an entire family inside one person all perceiving their appearance accordingly. Or they could be strangers or even enemies. They could all be from different countries, speak different languages, have different careers, different hobbies, different beliefs, religions and different families. Some would require glasses, or could have different medical conditions.

I asked if she remembered that she had backed off our relationship, our closeness some time ago after Jet. That Jane had wanted to be just friends.

She shook her head no and her eyebrows told their own story of confusion and embarrassment. At first I thought she might run away but instead she leaned away from me cautiously and cleared her throat "Oh?".

I could feel and hear the hurt in that one word. I could see the frustration flicker in her eyes wiping away everything else completely.

There was silence while she looked around the room before looking back at me. Her eyes slightly wet and darkened, her voice lower and husky.

"We had a connection you and me. From the start it was there. I didn't imagine it. Right?"

Her eyes pleaded and her lip quivered until she bit it.

I open my mouth but can think of nothing to say. It was a complicated question since the connection I had was with Jane not Katie. Or was it?

"I thought it was Jane standing in our way. I came out here today because it could be just you and me. Without any of the _others_. Just us."

Her afflictions were questioning and her voice higher and anxious with emotion.

My confusion held me in place. I watched as her lips moved forming syllables, as her eyes flickered across my face looking for understanding. I watched as she rubbed her brows with one hand similar to the way Jane would. She spoke again and the corners of her mouth twitched downwards as she spoke. I couldn't hear her though. My brain was preoccupied. I was trying to compartmentalize. What I was hypothesizing about Jane was that her alters could be actual fragmented and exaggerated parts of her original personality, of Jane's mind. Or at least based on the personalities that had revealed themselves to me so far. None of them were so unusual that they were a stranger to the Jane I knew.

Katie was the girly girl that Jane had locked away because of necessity, to be tough for her family, for her career, because the tomboy was more fun, because she idolized her pappa and he preferred her to play sport and go to football games with him, help him at work, and she had two boyish tough brothers to compete with and mostly because her mother wouldn't stop fussing over her so maybe she began to resent the dresses, the makeup and the dating men the way her mother expected.

Madison was the protectiveness that was Jane through and through, protective of anyone weaker or in-need. It was the reason she was so good at her job as well as such an amazing friend.

And Amy was the scared parts of Jane, the parts that she hid because she had to be brave for everyone else, the inner child in us all, and the part that created a safe fantasy world because the reality was brutal, torturous and destructive.

Maybe there were more, there probably were.

Her broken voice broke my thoughts, "I didn't know Jane had tried to end it between us, at least romantically. I just thought...I..um...I don't know..."

How much did she know. How much control did Katie have. It appeared this personality managed to over-ride Jane's own at times, or was it a fragment of Jane. If it was a fragment how long had Jane's mind been like this. How did I not know before now. Katie might have answers, answers none of the other's had. I thought she might leave. I think I needed her to stay. Or I wanted her too. I wasn't sure what I wanted. I wasn't even sure what I was thinking. I didn't want her to leave...I finally spoke and my dry mouth told me I must have been sitting for several minutes with my mouth half open.

"We _do_ have a connection. You didn't imagine it Jaa- Katie. It's just, I mean...I..."

Her face warms a little, hopeful, not completely trusting, waiting for more. I feel confused within myself. It all feels so surreal. I don't ever want to betray Jane. Embarrass her. Keep a secret from her. _It's not Jane,_ I tell myself several times.

"Does Jane know about _us_?"

It wasn't the most sagacious question I have ever asked nor was it the most professional.

"I think Jane knew of my feelings but I don't believe she knows about _me,_ exactly. Maybe that's why she was confused. Confused about my feelings I guess." She sighs and puts her head in her hands dejectedly.

"I'm sorry doctor." She whispered weakly

It was conflicting and uncomfortable. I had to fight my instinct. My mind wanted to accept this as Jane and hold onto it, hold onto her, get back what we once had, what we both once wanted. I wanted to reach out and hold her, comfort her, make promises I couldn't keep. Seeing her sad was like seeing Jane hurting, It hurt my heart. My wishful thinking to have her back almost over-rode all logic.

But I care about Jane so I tell her the truth "You know I love you but I do not want to do anything to betray Jane's trust. And I have to remain professional. Technically you are my friend _and_ patient."

But those words left my heart like shards of glass, Sure it was the truth but not the complete truth. Being with her felt right and wrong all in one breath.

And then there is a long moment when we just stare at each other, both gauging the others feelings, both contemplating our own, both possibly wondering what the other is thinking.

Her eye's finally sparkle and her confidence returns with a half smile which slowly grows across her face transforming it into a cheeky and mysterious grin. And she nudges me with her elbow and a soft chuckle while flicking her dark tresses over her shoulder.

Just like Jane. Exactly like Jane. I love her. It is not Jane. I wipe the smile off my face that has appeared by itself.

My mind was ambivalent. Oh how easy it would have been just to believe that Katie was Jane. All my guilt and frustration would have vanished into thin air if I could reconcile my mind with it all, If I could just pretend. It could be like nothing happened, like when we had actually been together...before. When red and blue had danced and soft blends of purple had danced between us. Like when we kissed and the dark and deadly world around us had vanished. I could just believe it was Katie after all.

But Jane was the person that meant the world to me, that made my life worth living and Katie was not Jane, not completely and fully _my_ Jane anyway. Jane was Katie _plus_ something more. Jane was boyish and sweet, caring and sarcastic, mysterious and complicated, had a very deep moral sense of right and wrong, she was rough around the edges with a figuratively soft centre and she was my friend, my best friend, my only friend.

No this Katie was most certainly not my Jane regardless of how many similarities, and how much I would like her to be. But Katie still needs me, and so does Jane who is somewhere inside still.

Half an hour later we left with our arms linked platonically. Katie seemed to understand and respected my situation...at least for now, or she just wasn't pushing it.

Madison and Amy have allowed Katie and I to have this time alone together. And even though there were a few awkward moments, I feel the happiest I had felt in many weeks.

The caring twinkle in Katie's soft brown eyes remained for the whole ride back and I knew the moment it was gone I would miss it with my every fibre of my being.

* * *

It had been a good week. Amy began to open up a little more and her fear seemed to grow weaker as she grew stronger and more emotionally independant, she even allowed Dr. Hofstede into the room to talk with me. Maddy therefore felt the need to appear less and less to protect her. And other than waking to Katie sneaking her hand up my shirt one time, she was respectful and graceful to a fault. Physically, however, they were doing better than fine and all the scans seemed to be showing more and more activity especially around the cerebral cortex. New medication seemed to have no positive effect but at least no negative effects. I could call on each and often they did respond and appear but not always. And usually not when I was with Amy. But there was still no sign of Jane herself.

But while some things appeared to be improving, not everything was.

* * *

TALIONIC JUSTICE

Some time ago I knew a lot, or at least I thought I did. I also thought that knowledge and intelligence were important, valuable, significant.

But recently I had learnt that intelligence isn't everything...

I also learnt that life is not just or fair.

That family and friends are all that matter in the entire world.

That the smartest minds on earth cannot fix everything.

That the intelligence of evil men can achieve unspeakable atrocities.

I also learnt that happy endings are apocryphal.

The human mind is labyrinthine.

And that I am not impervious to suffering.

But I still had to learn the biggest lesson of them all.

And that lesson is that... _Light cannot dwell with darkness_.

I was something of immeasurable value that was as important as breathing. I had heard it, I knew it and to a degree I understood it both emotionally and scientifically. But I don't think I had every experienced darkness within myself before. The lack of experience of the topic meant I had somehow refused to follow it. I had understood it but I did not put it into practice. I did not protect myself from it. It was a lesson that a person should avoid learning the hard way at all costs. I was not that person.

I had started so subtly and slowly I barely noticed it.

It began with a tiny seed of frustration. Frustration that we were not progressing like I wanted. Frustration at the unknown, the uncertainty.

And when a six and a half year old climbed out from under her fortress bed where she slept most nights and curled up beside me with wet cheeks and a hoarse whimper.  
"Stop Beansilly, stop Beansilly" she whispered over and over gripping my arm painfully with her head buried in the blankets. I consoled her, I promised her the monsters couldn't get her here, that she was safe. I wiped the wet tears from her face and stroked her cheek softly, and she went back to sleep. And I laid silently in the darkness and slowly and insidiously stewed and simmered.

They say frustration is the little brother of anger. And boy was I angry at so many things, some for myself but mostly for those around me.

For whatever had happened to Amy.

And to Jane who was trapped somewhere inside this body.

For her mother who had spent almost as much time lately crying as breathing.

Anger at Jet.

Anger at Nazi's that developed and created mind control programming in the first place.

Anger at the individuals knowingly behind the operations that harmed Jane and well as those in the places of power that claimed deniability about such things.

Anger at what he had done to Jane. That she had been hurt, psychologically wounded, figuratively castrated, traumatized and defeated.

And I nurtured that anger little by little every day by holding onto it, and by allowing it freedom within the contained spaces I created for it to roam.

I allowed the darkness within myself to take root.

I had felt it begin to grow. I had felt my heart get heavier everyday and had ignored the signs, I did nothing to stop it.

The anger would subside the moment something really good happened. Even for an hour or two it was like it had never been there at all. My heart would be too full of other feelings. Joy in remembering when Jane had squeezed my hand. And when she had spoken to me for the first time. When Amy had shared a secret because she trusted me or left her safe spaces to be closer to me. Hope when someone in the facility had a breakthrough or recovery. And when a miracle happened. Gratitude when Madison smiled for real at me. Happiness when Amy laughed so hard orange jello had come out her nose. When Katie hugged me tightly and thanked me for being there for her. When everything in my small isolated sad world felt like it might somehow become alright after all.

But the anger returned with a newfound strength whenever a new victim arrived at the facility. Or when Jane regressed in progress. When one of them cried and hid or said they didn't want to live with the pain anymore. Or when Hofstede shook his head at the printouts. When Angela couldn't speak she was so upset. Or when anyone said Jet's name.

And when it returned, that anger, my blood began to boil. Although scientifically boiling blood meant that my heart rate increased and arterial tension and testosterone production increased causing my cortisol to decrease, and the left hemisphere of my brain became more stimulated. But a medical Journal doesn't tell you what that feels like, that your skin is burning like hot pokers and your insides might be filled with sharp gravel. The almost indescribable feeling filled me so completely that I had to sit down before it overpowered me...often. Gone was the hope and distant was the beautiful canvas of dancing colours from my mind. Thoughts of walking among the flowers with Jane and watching bees and butterflies collect pollen a distant memory.

It was a roller-coster I couldn't realistically keep in check forever no matter what I did. But I somehow deluded myself that I had it under control.

The anger grew into hate. Hate at the government for taking my tax dollars to create and fund the programs that do these atrocious acts. Hate at the Nazis who were brought into America by the CIA to research and run the programs. Hate at the authority figures that knowingly sent children from orphanages to them for experiments. Hate at the corruption in the world on the highest levels. Hate at what Jet had done and the domino effects he had caused in all our lives...How many months lost, murderers not caught, lives impacted. And TJ growing up without his auntie, Tommy without his sisters guidance. What impacts had been indirectly caused by _him_. Even my voice inside my head spat out the word _him_. How many other things had been caused by Jet and the CIA that we might never even know about but had affected the natural course of our lives negatively. And my heart harbored un-forgiveness and to it I added all these possible offenses. And so it grew darker and deeper.

The hate was a sort of analgesic and rather than devoting myself to _healing_ from from the hurts, I instead become addicted to numbing it through the painkiller of vengeful thoughts. And the irony of this situation is that to have my painkiller continue to work, I had to keep the wound fresh and open. When good things happened I managed to hold onto it more and more. I kept it alive while it in turn began to destroy me from the inside.

I didn't think It could get much deeper than it was, I thought I could pull out of it if I really had too, that was until that fifteen year old boy that had been abused since he was two arrived at the facility. He was wheeled down the hall past Jane and myself glaring with watery angry bloodshot eyes at everyone around him. He allowed no one to comfort him or befriend him or touch him. When the paramedic accidentally grazed his arm in the doorway he leapt out of the chair screaming and started thumping himself until his skin started to bruise. He was full of anger and pain and he sobbed like a child. No one mocked him or laughed at him. His fear was palatable.  
He had the physical signs of torture that not everyone here had. He had rough scars on his arms and neck from scratching himself raw. He had cigarette burns and small cuts over a large percenage of his body, some had not fully healed yet. He had bald patches on his scalp from some unknown possibly self-inflicted horrors.

Jane watched in horror and hugged my arm and then she rubbed my shoulder gently. But I stopped being able to feel it. It didn't comfort me.

Sometimes the scars on the outside made it easier to believe and understand what was going on inside a person. But the scars also amplified the real suffering going on behind every door in this place. Everywhere I looked I saw it. Every pair of eyes that watched me fearfully from across the room. The sadness in the nurses eyes after treatments. The marks on the walls where Chelsea had thumped them with her fists and feet. The overturned tables in the games room with the scattered black and white chess pieces from one end to the other. And the look that Jane gave me...the Jane that didn't speak after witnessing certain things...the one I worried might be suddenly catatonic again.

The darkness within me was like an anvil in my heart. It was so heavy that my senses became confused.

Scars looked like piercing screams. Tears sounded like broken teeth and misery. Screams tasted like bitterness and blood.

It was overtaking me.

 _Whoever loves his brother abides in the light, and in him there is no cause for stumbling. But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes._

I was stumbling around in the darkness now, and the worst part was that Amy started to become more distant and Madison started to again appear more often. I believe she intended to protect Amy from me, from the darkness festering within me. It's possible they sensed a similar darkness to what had harmed them.

I remembered Jane's hero speech she gave..."I was just doing my job. We all do this job because its what we've been trained to do. We have been trained not to think of ourselves but to act because life is unfair and bad things happen and I think we're all here to remind everybody that sometimes the good guys still win."  
From where I stood today, the good guys had not won. The job was not worth it. It was sacrifice on top of sacrifice on top of sacrifice for what felt like eternity. Would it ever end. Hoyt, Jet, and now never-ending pain for Jane, for us both, for us all. Loss of what we had and should have.

And so the hate transformed into rage, rage that could potentially burn out of control into toxic and pathological thoughts of exacting revenge on those to be blamed. I sought, at least unconsciously, revenge and retaliation. Grave injustices had been committed, we had been wronged causing grief. Resentment is what we experience whenever we conclude that another has seriously abused us. Left to fester, it eventually becomes the corrosive ulcer that is bitterness.

As I stood there watching that young boy finally stop sobbing, I thought I might break or implode, despite those being physically impossible.

 _This primitive "talionic response" is fueled by festering rage, anger, resentment and bitterness, which, when denied, dissociated, repressed or chronically masked, becomes pathological and potentially destructive._

When Hoyt was killed, Jane only said she was just glad it was over. She didn't seem to need the justification of her perpetrator, that he suffer as he had made her suffer. She said, "Yoda says that ' _fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering_ ', And I have suffered enough already so why let it continue when I have nothing to be afraid of anymore."  
I didn't know who Yoda was but he sounded very wise.

I wasn't suffering...yet. I wasn't afraid either. The anger and hate felt good, I felt stronger, justified. And I really thought I did have it under control.

But then word came that Jet had died. I laughed at first, it felt momentarily like justification, but then I was...furious...furious that he escaped so easily and by his own hand. The freewill he had taken from many countless victims he had managed to keep for himself. It wasn't justification, he had claimed freedom, a twisted sort of self-absolution. He didn't deserve that mercy. I was livid, my skin burned from the inside out like every cell was on fire. It wasn't enough, he wasn't hurt enough, it wasn't slow enough, painful enough, exact enough. It had been too easy for him. He should have suffered slowly, painfully, completely, one time at least for every person he ever harmed, for the same length he held and harmed each victim, for the months and months he held Jane, until his last painful breath.

He should have suffered...but now revenge was impossible...

* * *

...to be continued...

* * *

-Covers head and hides behind screen-...plz don't hate me. -crosses fingers and hope you're all gentle-


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

* * *

 _He should have suffered...and now revenge was impossible..._

By controlling Jane's path, Jet had altered both of our futures. Jet had affected many peoples futures and paths and in the worst possible ways imaginable.

He had caused all this and I hated him...but he was dead and now I could do nothing to him. Nothing at all.

STUMBLING IN THE DARKNESS

Yesterday during a session with the psychologist, Amy drew a picture of a man in a white coat standing over a figure lying on the ground. When asked what the picture meant, Amy said the bad man had killed a boy and made her watch. I had stepped out of the room merely to calm myself, I needed those few moments in the bathroom more often these days.

When I came out of the adjoining bathroom it was not Amy but, shall we say, the nameless one that followed me across the room with sad eyes. Whoever she, or it, was, was extremely observant. She would have noticed my red eyes, my red knuckles and ruffled clothing. She may have even heard me scream at the stall wall if she had been listening specifically for the sound of a toilet flushing to muffle the sound. Her eye's looked worried I suppose. I don't know how else to describe them. Worry or judgement. I could have walked over and asked her but I didn't. Instead I left the session and wandered towards my own bedroom.

I had never abandoned a session before. I had always stayed to the end. I had wanted every detail up to now hadn't I? I had to know it all so I could try use my intelligence to fix it. To fix what had been broken. But those eyes that watched me leave, they were knowing. They knew something and I just couldn't stick around to find out what. I couldn't bear that those eyes might be judging me. Judging that I had allowed the darkness to grow. Knowing that I was slowly loosing control of myself.

I wonder, have you ever hoped someone would make a mistake so you would be seen as more competent by other people. Or that someone would get demoted so you might get promoted. That those people in the upstairs apartment with the view might leave town so you could move into their place. Or that the really pretty girl in the pageant would stumble on stage so you might have a slightly greater chance of winning. And that the jerk who ripped your off might meet up with karma and have a nasty accident.

It is a form of coveting essentially. Wanting something that is not yours. Is it not?  
Wanting a thing, a place, recognition. Things that didn't belong to you.

Is it so bad though, everyone does it don't they.

Is having these thoughts any better or worse than a person than might in some way take it a step further and act or force certain circumstances in their direction to their advantage.  
It's only a tiny step from hoping or wishing something upon another for your own personal gain so actioning it. From a thought to an action...one small insignificant step is it not?  
To actually deceive your co-worker so he mucks up and you get the promotion meant for him. To you tell the landlord a lie about someone in the building so they might be evicted and their apartment available. To sabotage another contestant to increase your odds of winning. To make someones life troublesome for all the injustices they cause those around them.  
Such a tiny step from thought to action. Is it really a form of theft, maybe it is justice after all. Did they even deserve that thing, position, object, future or life in the first place.

I slammed the door to my room behind me so hard I wondered how the timber frame didn't shatter. I had never slammed a door before in my life, it was not appropriate behavior. That made this a day of firsts and I was beyond caring. I wanted to pound the door and scream at it until either the pain and anger inside me was too worn out physically that I couldn't feel it anymore, or that the pain inside me was transferred physically to my hands so I couldn't feel it inside anymore.

I wonder how much a step it would have been for me. To go from thinking of killing Jet to actually doing it. My father was a stone cold killer, my biological father. Maybe it would have been easy for me. Maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

If thinking murderous thoughts is equally as wrong as murder then I was completely guilty of it.

I wanted to suffer or someone else to suffer for all this, this whole mess, for all the screwed up and crazy messes of the whole world. I wanted revenge on somebody.

But if you seek to avenge a victim but revenge on the perpetrator is no longer possible, what does a person do. How does one put their world right again. Balance the proverbial scales. Do you find another person to take their place. Do you hate the world until eventually you don't. Do you let go of the hate and revenge and simply walk away from it all. Or do you add _it_ to the list of injustices and grievances and allow it to continue to grow deeper and darker until there is no more light left. Until there is only complete darkness and no light can touch it.

Somewhere within these bitter thoughts I realized I needed help. It might have been when I realized my hands were clenched so tightly my nails had drawn blood. Or when I realized I was in such an emotional state that I had stopped breathing.

But who decides whether something is really wrong anyway. Is it your perspective or mine. Your conscience or mine. Who sets the moral ground. The jury? People just like you and I who view the world through our own distorted perspective on life, who harbor our own resentment and hurts and who are given only partial facts in the courtroom by a lawyer who is paid to be better than the opposing lawyer. So who makes the judgement call? The Judge? The possibly immoral adulterous man who beats his wife at home but sits on his little throne of power and innocently determines the fate of others. Is he innocent or did he read a book and pass a test. Who decided he is worthy to judge. The law? A set of rules written by people who took a self appointed authority to decide...people who might drink alcohol and swear and slander and steal and pay for sex on weekends. And rules that were established merely for the good of those in power and with money, so they might be protected from judgement and from those they crush on their way to the top. And who enforces those rules? The police. A bunch of civilians that have been promoted to gun carrying badge welding individual that arrogantly upholds the laws while being protected by the law. Police who swear an oath to uphold the law but not necessarily an oath to protect and serve their fellow man. The same as the military that swears to follow their commander and chief but not the constitution. And what law should we all be forced to follow? The laws written by men with perfect and righteous characters without any personal bias?

2,000 years ago a person who acted in a way decided by the community to be less than acceptable would be taken outside a city and stoned to death. There were no state laws or police or judges or rules...there was right and wrong determined by people of equal standing and determined by the words of their God.

Sometimes a person might believe another person deserves to die for their actions, and maybe they should, the world might be a better place without them in it. The world would have been a better place without Jet.

Sometimes I think the world would be better place if the masses determined the laws instead of picking a leader to be in charge of deciding how things should run on their behalf but without listening to them.

If every person cared for other humans then we would not need governments or police or laws. We would each be accountable to others and our conscience. We would do unto others as we would have them do unto us.

So why is everyone not loving and kind like Jane?

It would seem that the selfish and corrupt get ahead and the kind and self-less get left behind.

Jane and I once worked a case where a young boy lost his entire family. They were collateral damage in a gang related drive-by. Then the boy was forced into foster care. Of the gang members involved only three were locked up and for only 8 months before they were released on parole. The boy told us that good things only happened to bad people so he thought he might run away and join the bad guys or he would never survive in this world. Obviously Jane tried to help him, to tell him not to lose himself by becoming like them, joining them. That those that do evil might get away with it in this life, get ahead in this world, but that they would face judgement for it eventually. Maybe she meant the afterlife or maybe she meant this life. I had different beliefs than her so I let her talk to him. I never found out what happened to that boy but his words stayed with me.

 _You have to be like them to get ahead in this world._

So why did we do good to others. Why do we care. Why do we put others needs before our own.  
Why don't we all just become selfish and mean. Then everyone in this world would be the same. Would it be more fair. The horrible people would be the same as everybody and everybody would get ahead at the same speed...or nobody would get ahead. Everyone would be hurt instead of just a few.

 _Don't lose yourself by becoming like them, they will have to pay for their actions one day_.

I hope Jet is burning somewhere. Suffering forever somewhere. Somehow I felt better at the thought of it.

* * *

"Mara Mara." Her childlike voice pulling my attention back to the current session. She smiles when I look at her. Doubtful eyes suddenly calmer. I say nothing.

"Do you like my drawing?" She holds up what looks like her teddybear Bass with two other girls one of which could have been Jane. I nod. The drawing is extremely detailed for a six year old and I am glad it is not disturbing like some of her past drawings have been.

"Thats my imaginary friend." Amy points at the slightly taller girl in the drawing with dark curly hair.

"Who is that?" Dr Eliza Jones, child psychologist, asks Amy pointing at the other girl in the picture who has waist length bright red hair.

"That's meeeee." Amy smiles, "And that's Bass."

"I see." Eliza continues, "And what is your imaginary friends name?"

Amy picks up the black crayon and starts darkening the blue sky behind the characters in her drawing. "I don't know."

"What do you do together Amy?"

"Nothin."

"Hmmm, so what does your friend do?"

"Just talks." Amy says tilting her head side to side as she colours. The drawing begins to take on a gloomier look as the blue sky all but vanishes into darkness.

"What does she talk about?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Eliza looks at me confused. I shrug back at her. It's the first I have heard about Amy's imaginary friend. It is probably why Amy thought I had an imaginary friend when I had called her Jane.

"Why not Amy?"

"She says mean things to me." Amy wraps her arms tightly around her pink teddybear and that little girl frown and pout appears. The black crayon's movements become more deliberate and erratic.

"What sort of things Amy?" Dr Eliza Jones asked Amy gently but still pushing.

"I don't wanna talk about it?" She looks at me and wimpers.

I was in the room only to be support and security for Jane or Amy or Madison.

"Why not Amy?" We were mid session and Eliza was still trying to find a way to speak to Madison. I can tell by her expression that she thinks she is on the right track.

Eliza told me earlier that by pushing Amy into uncomfortable situations it would force Madison out even though Madison didn't want to be a part of the sessions. It was the protective aspect of Madison that might make it happen regardless. I didn't agree with the process of traumatizing a child to get rid of her but at the same time Amy was the least helpful alter when it came to information gathering, and I was also no expert in this field either so my opinion was moot. Amy didn't know any of the others including Jane. Madison knew of Amy and Jane and Katie. And Katie knew of Madison and Jane but not Amy.

Eliza believed integrating Madison and Katie, the two that knew about each other as well as knew Jane, would be a good start but Katie only ever emerged when alone with me and never when she knew we were being directly observed. And Madison didn't like talking so fought to not come out.

Amy drops the crayon and starts to rock back and forth slightly in her chair still clutching the bear. Her knuckles turn white and she looks at Eliza almost angrily. I don't blame her really, she is six and a half and being forced to discuss something uncomfortable.

It was an oddly interesting relationship between the alters and if we could somehow figure out the order of creation of alters or who was in charge, then maybe we could integrate them back together and make Jane whole again. That was the unofficial plan anyway.

It was impossible to determine if Jane had split into these alters and eliminated the need for Jane or if she was hidden somewhere inside still. Any talks about it were guesses which I ignored as merely opinion.

"Dun wanna talk 'bout it." She squeals with steely dark eyes.

"Why?" Eliza still firm yet soft.

It was like watching a mexican standoff and I half expected Amy to suddenly lunge at Eliza. Amy probably didn't understand she had the strength of an adult so would unlikely try. So instead they stared at each other with equal determination. I was glad to be observing and not involved in this situation directly.

Until Amy squealed my name, "Maarrrraaa, pleeeease make her go awaaaay. I don't wanna talk. I don't like it." She was so close to tears and I was about 5 seconds from reaching out to comfort her.

Then the pink teddybear falls clumsily to the floor, discarded, and she growls deeply at Eliza like a mother bear would at a predator. She even showed Eliza her gritted teeth. Her fists were clenching the sides of the chair. I reach out my hand to get Madison's attention, let her know I am here, but mainly to prevent physical conflict. But Madison glares at me also. I really can't blame her. I had never forced Maddy out to talk so I understood the anger. It almost matched my own feelings about this entire situation.

"Maddy, It's ok." I plead, "We just need to talk about Jane."

Eliza gives me a disapproving look. I was meant to be seen and not heard. I wonder if Madison had attacked her if she might have disapproved still. But then Eliza did not know Madison. She had not seen her kill Hoyt or Alison Sands. She had not seen the unemotional eyes that committed those acts. And my explanation by way of words and reports did not justly tell the story.

"There's nuthin' to talk about Dr. Isles." She growls under her breath at me without taking her eyes off Eliza.

"Why won't Jane come out?" Eliza tries to regain control of the conversation.

"Why would she when all you ever do is torment her. She is not safe here." Madison responds in her angry monotone voice.

"Did Jane tell you that?"

The response is a deep throaty growl.

"Why is Jane not safe _here_?" Eliza's calm neutral voice continues as she pokes around the edges searching for an entrance point.

"I don't have to talk to you. I can just sit here and say nothing." She growls her reply.

Madison will never open up. Whatever is going on with her she will not share it. Why would she. I would presume that not enough people cared about her that she could have even if she wanted. That opening up in the past had been dangerous. That she didn't need anybody anymore and hadn't for a long time.

"No you don't have to talk Madison. You don't have to say anything." Eliza leans back in her chair and rests her head on her fist. "But you could tell us anything _you_ want if you want too. Maybe you could tell us why _you_ don't feel safe here."

Madison crosses her arms protectively and glowers at Eliza, "You get this straight lady, I'm only gonna say this _one_ time. I ain't scared of nuthin'. Ok. Nuthin'."

Eliza lips twitch slightly as she hides a smile, "I see. Should I be scared of you Madison?"

Madison's eyebrows crinkle in that confused and questioning way, just like Jane.

"What? No."

"What does Jane have to be afraid of?" Eliza asks catching madison off guard.

"Because...because..." Madison turns slowly to look at me, "Because you keep hurting her."

My mouth is suddenly cotton wool dry as vivid memories of Jane shooting me come back. And then the memory of several months before that when Jane was crying against my arm that Jet who was employed to help her had instead hurt her.

There is something I find remarkably strange about the human body. No matter how many times you feel a particular emotion or feeling and your body responds physically, there is no decrease in the symptoms, almost no desensitization whatsoever. It's not like the taste buds sending signals to the brain and that eating the same hot sauce every day will eventually have very little heat. It is more like putting you hand on an hot element, it burns with the same intensity every time. The signal sent to the brain always causes you to pull away from the heat source regardless of whether you are expecting pain or not. Even watching the same movie twice can incite the exact same emotions with equal strength as if you are experiencing it for the first time.

Anger and sadness, at least for me, the response is as powerful every time as if you are feeling it for the first time in your life. The same amount of chemicals coarse through the body and brain and the body responds exactly the same every single time. Maybe this excludes certain types of fear that you can train your brain and body to respond in a much decreased way. But anger always makes my skin feel like lava and my organs feel like they are made of lead. Sadness always felt like I had swallowed a ball of steel wool and been stabbed in the chest. I feel both sadness and anger several times everyday...at least, and the feelings always have the same intensity. I feel both angry and sad. Jane told me once that that was being sangry. I informed her they were separate emotions and that the word sangry is not in the dictionary. It should be.

"How is she being hurt exactly?"

Eliza looks at me in disbelief. She might quit or refuse me in the room next time, but I don't care, this was me fighting for Jane. And I have to fight despite that anger and sadness in myself not only at what had happened up to this point but that I was being fully blamed by Madison. Or at least it felt that way. It wasn't all my fault...I think. I hope. I have enough guilt already, maybe she knows that.

"No one wants to hurt Jane, or any of you. We care about Jane." Eliza responds softly.

Maybe anger was blocking my logic. Maybe the 'you' that keeps hurting Jane was projected as Eliza hurting Amy or Madison. Maybe it was that we never found Jane when Jet took her and the alters perceived we had allowed it to happen to them.

Madison drops the glares and the anger and looks down at the ground, "She needed protected and nobody did anything."

Of the alters I felt the most for Maddy. You could literally see the tormented pain in her face, in her eyes. In a sense she had suffered the most. But that was her purpose too, it was the reason for her creation, she was to protect the others and Jane.

"Except you." I whisper and feel only sadness.

Maybe Madison was not letting Jane out to protect her. Did she have that sort of control.

"I want to talk to Jane. I want to hear this from her." I demand, as if anyone could demand anything of Madison, but I had to try.

"No"

"Yes!" I growl back at her. The anger is getting hard to keep under control.

"NO." Her eye twitched a little as she says it. Like there was more going on inside her.

I think I realized then that when Jane and Maddy eventually integrated that Jane would know and feel all Madison's pain and take on those trauma's or memories. And when that happened, then I would see that same pain I saw in Madison's eyes in Jane's eyes.  
But it would also be alongside love and joy and hope, things that Madison lacked.  
Maddy was alone in bearing the burden right now but she didn't need too. She was isolated and trapped inside and only came out to absorb the trauma and protect the others. In her eyes was no joy, no happiness, no pleasure. Maddy was the strong fierce one. Maddy was the lone suffering wolf until she and Jane became one again. The question was not only how to merge them, but if Jane could cope with the truth when the time came, if there was a way that she wouldn't need Madison anymore.

"Why?" My voice is breaking as I speak. It's hurt and fear and guilt and sadness all in one. I wonder if Jane had a word for that.

"Why Madison?" Eliza interrupts in her calmer and much more unemotional and even tone.

But there is no reply. Madison is gone. Instead of angry hurt sullen eyes, the eyes staring back at me are sad and the face shows no expression. She blinks at me, or possibly at the sudden displacement.

I face the silent one. The nameless one. The mysterious one that watches and does not speak. The one I occasionally catch watching from across the room. Almost catatonic. Sad eyes and no other expression. Her eyes would study her surroundings silently without a word. Just observing anything and everything. If I walked over to speak with her or it, Madison would appear and answer.

But now it was just us and the silent one.

"Jane?"

I hold my breath and my ribs feels like they are tightly bound around my solar plexus.

Her mouth opens slightly as if she is about to speak

It is a soft husky whisper

"Remember me forever"

* * *

...to be continued...


	14. Chapter 14

Forgive me...mad few weeks. Thank you for your comments. I hope this chapter is ok...I must have rewritten parts of it at least 10 times and shuffled it around a bunch. I'm not sure I have quite got it right because there are bits I'm attached to that I should maybe just drop but am being stubborn so they are IN there but perhaps shouldn't be. Feels like It's missing something...or perhaps just the writing this chapter has just been too all over the place. It won't be perfect because i haven't had time to proof-read it properly.

I hope you enjoy it though and looking forward to your comments either way. xx

* * *

 **CHAPTER 14**

 _Madison is gone. Now it was just us and the silent one. And her mouth opens to speak. It is a soft husky whisper..._

"Remember me forever"

* * *

National Forget-Me-Not Day is held Nov 10th to remember friends, family and loved ones. There is a belief that wearers of the flower will not be forgotten by their lovers

The true forget-me-not is a moderately tall, sprawling wildflower that measures approximately 15-60 cm in height. Each radially symmetrical bloom has a fused corolla that opens into five rounded lobes. The flowers are arranged in tightly coiled, rounded clusters that unfurl from pink buds as the flowers progressively bloom into powder-blue petals with a conspicuous, bright yellow centre. They are arranged in rounded, divergent clusters along the length of the branch. They will bloom from early summer to late spring. While the flowers don't have much scent during the day, they are very fragrant in the evening. The stems and leaves of forget-me-nots are oblong, stalkless and covered with tiny hairs. The resemblance of its flower stalks to the tail of a scorpion is how the species got the name, Myosotis scorpioides.

In the language of flowers, the forget-me-not represents faithfulness, true love and remembrance.

* * *

She sounds like she hasn't spoken in weeks. Like her voice has almost seized up. Like speaking might even be painful. If it is painful she shows no signs of it. No expression at all. But her words said everything and my heart beats faster.

She remembered...remembered being in the garden, remembered me talking about the language of flowers, remembered me giving her forget-me-nots, remembered me pleading her not to forget me. _"The Forget Me Not flower means 'remember me forever'. Don't forget, Jane. Don't forget."_

She remembered and in that moment my heart exploded in joy. I was on my feet and in front of her in a second.

"Jane. Is that you?"

The momentary pause sends me back weeks to that waiting game I had played for an answer, any answer. Those moments when she answered by squeezing my hand. The combination of uncertainty and impatience followed by joy and hope.

"Maur?"

It is like music to my ears and medicine to my heart. And no matter what anyone said, I knew in my heart it was Jane. The lack of facial expressions and croaky weak voice would never deter me from this knowing.

"Yes it's me. It's me. I'm here. You are safe. I'm here."

I cup her cheek and look deeply into her sad eyes. She studies my face. Always observing, always watching, saying nothing, expressing nothing. There is no flicker of emotion in her eyes.

"I'm s-sorry I hurt you."

I clasp her hands and feel a prickle of a tear in the corners of my eyes.

I feel Eliza's hand firmly on my shoulder. I know what she is saying with her touch. To let Jane breathe. To let her talk in her own time. To not crowd her. And most importantly to be gentle.

"You didn't sweetie, I'm fine, Jane."

I give Jane a gentle hug, a gentle squeeze, just to show her I am ok. So she can feel it. I treat her like she might break because I am afraid she might disappear again. Madison's words ring through my head as if I was standing underneath church bell _'...You keep hurting her...You keep hurting her...You keep hurting her...You keep hurting her.'_

"What do you need Jane? What can I do?"

She blinks slowly, like blinking might be exhausting. Her chest rises and falls heavily like it is an effort.

"But...Maur'... You're dead."

* * *

It has long been believed that a broken heart can cause death. Science clarified it. In a study titled "The Cardiovascular Toll of Stress", Doctors identified how long-term emotional stress shortens lives by increasing the risk of heart disease. And that sudden emotional shock from acute fear, grief, startling, or anger can cause a stunned heart which in medical terms is when the body produces large amounts of stress hormones including adrenaline, which narrows the main arteries which supply blood to the heart. This paralyses the heart's main pumping chamber can cause death due to life-threatening abnormal heart rhythm.

If anyone should die of a paralyzed heart it should have been me right then. Unfortunately I was not so lucky.

My heart may not have physically paralyzed but emotionally It stopped completely.

My legs barely hold my weight and by the time I am outside the room I am all but on the floor.

Nausea. Increased heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing rate. My nervous system stimulated the adrenal glands, releasing hormones including adrenaline and cortisol. My muscles become tense to keep me alert and my body perspires to cool itself down. It is that well known and uncontrollable flight or fight response humans naturally have in order to keep them alive.

 _Flight_

FLIGHT

"I have to leave." I blurt it through blubbering tears I can't control.

Dr. Hofstede is beside me trying to help me sit up, "What?"

"I am why she won't come out. She thinks she killed me. And I am threatening her recovery."

The words leave my mouth like daggers into my own heart.

My heart needs Jane, needs to stay for her, but my head tells me otherwise.

"We don't know that." Hofstede holds my shoulders facing me like my life depends on hearing him.

"We _do_ know that. You heard Madison. I keep hurting _her_. ME. No one else..." I am on the verge of breaking into a billion pieces inside. I had no idea how much damage I had done and was still doing to Jane. It was contradictory to my intentions.

"Maura, just stay until we figure this out."

I am clutching his sleeve so tightly my hand has cramped and I'm not sure I can release my grip.

"I - I don't think I can stay."

It's the truth. The anger has vanished...it was replaced with shock and now guilt. Guilt more intense than I have ever experienced before.

It looks like fear to everyone around me. It almost feels like fear.

It hurts to breathe. Like all my organs are crushed by an invisible weight. And I can only take tiny breaths at a time or the pain is unbearable. I want to scream but I can't because there isn't enough air. I want to cry but I have to focus on just getting just enough air in each breath to survive. I gasp for air but it doesn't help, it only causes further pain to my lungs.

"Maura, look at me."

I do. His face is calm, comforting, caring.

"This is really good news. Jane has finally emerged. Now we can help her. You made that happen, no one else did that. She needs you Maura even if she doesn't know it yet."

He still holds onto me firmly not letting me try to run away from him.

I want to run. I want to hide. I want to...

...die.

I could blame Jet before. I could blame the organizations. I could shift the blame to a lot of things...until I could only blame myself.

"It's all m- _my_ fault."

This pain is worse than anger, than hate and bitterness. It is worse than fear. It is worse than when Jane was missing. Worse than anything I have ever experienced. It might even be worse than death.

* * *

I have choices. Choices I never wanted to make. Never should have had to make.  
The choice to let my emotions force me out the door and back to Boston leaving behind everything that made life worth living. The choice to let logic say goodbye and leave because it is what is best for Jane.  
Or the choice to follow my heart and stay and hope that Jane emerges anyway. It is what everyone here thinks is best. For once in my life I don't know. I just don't know.  
All I ever wanted what was best for Jane...And no one can answer that for certain. What I desire is certainty.  
I am somehow persuaded to stay for tonight and sleep on it. To decide tomorrow what to do. To decide what is best for Jane.  
For now, at least, I want to try to enjoy the next few hours with the trio incase I do leave.  
To put aside thoughts and feelings and just live in the now, this might be the last time I see them all. Because if I leave and Jane is somehow miraculously healed while I am gone I may never see them again.

And I would miss them.

I would miss the half-awake moments when Katie's lips graze my skin and she pretends it was an accident. Katie is my comfort in both words and touch.

I will miss those rare moments when I see Madison smile a real smile even when she tries to hide it. I still draw my strength from hers.

And I will miss the six year old who cuddles into my side, that I know trusted me more than the usual safe spot under her bed. And when she shares her last piece of pineapple with me. I will even miss the sticky hug that follows it. She reminds me that every moment we have with someone that cares about us is the most beautiful thing in the world.

* * *

"I am thinking about leaving for a little while, Maddy."

She stares at the ground, 'What did I do?"

I could tell by her tone alone that she was taking it personally.

We had decided to go for a walk in the gardens just before dinner, I wanted to break the news to her alone. I figured she had seen what had happened earlier and might be able to provide clarity to my decision.

"You didn't do anything sweetheart, but I think I am doing more harm than good here."

She kicked a stone across the path and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. We walk in silence for a few meters.

"I don't think she meant it. That you hurt her. I think she is just hurtin."

Maybe I had been the one to take it too personally. Or maybe Madison didn't want me to leave.

"I know you saw what happened Madison, you don't have to sugarjacket it."

She looks at me for a moment just like Jane might. A look like she might want to protect me from something. Then she looks away and into the distance.

"You don't know what he did to Jane do you?"

I almost give myself whiplash to look around at her. She never ever wanted to talk about Jane before.

"No, I don't know. Please tell me."

She shrugs "I don't know if _she_ would want me too."

I nod into the silence. Truthfully I don't imagine she would want to burden me with it if she was able tell me herself.

The sun is getting lower in the sky and the warm breeze softly grabs our loose hair and gently pushes it away from us. We walk slowly past the empty pond.

"The physical stuff ain't really nearly as bad as the mental stuff." Maddie starts without prompting, "But used together they are pretty brutal."

I bite my lip to keep myself from speaking.

"He called it white torture cause it don't leave no physical damage."

 _Repeated torture conditions the person unconsciously, to obey every order at its best, to not get tortured again unnecessarily. In addition, they decide, consciously or unconsciously, after a certain period of time, to surrender their own will, and for the unconditional subjection to the will of the torturer. If this happens, it is called total mind control._

"I didn't reckon she believed anything he said to her anyways no matter what he actually did to her. To us. Jane is tough. She doesn't always need me. Actually she doesn't mean to need me."

She kicks another stone and a darkness creeps across her eyes.

I was sure there was a very unusual and unique relationship between Jane and Madison, just like there is a between the monarch butterfly and the milkweed.  
As larvae and then as adults the milkweed butterfly group live a life that is dependent upon the power-source within the milkweed plant for everything! Its sustenance, its protection, its very existence totally revolve around its relationship with the plant for a successful life. The little caterpillars feast on the milkweed leaves and within weeks they grow to over 2700 times their original size. They molt five times and develop their own peculiar caterpillar look. As the caterpillars feast on the plants, the plants generate more leaves to provide for their needs. The blood of the milkweed plant contains a cardiac poison which will sicken or kill most vertebrate animals, yet the bitter fluid does not harm the caterpillar. They must absorb the vital milkweed power in order to defend itself and to allow the little bugs to be successful on life's journey. They must have that key component, the cardiac poison, which they retain into adulthood, to hold within it a defensive authority to shield the insect from its enemies. The Monarch would never survive without the milkweed plant.

"She always kept everything she felt locked up inside until it got too much."

I wish I understood what she meant exactly, but it was typical of Maddy to speak almost cryptically about anything Jet related, and to say just barely enough, for my liking anyway. But with Madison you couldn't push her or her darker attitude would appear. The psychologists believed it was merely the way she processed things when she wasn't the main personality in control.

"In the end he did mess with her head pretty bad."

"Badly."

Damn my internal auto correction.

"Pretty badly. But then it happened, y'know, everything he swore to her would, everything she didn't believe. It affected her worse than we thought it had."

I thought about the conversation in the kitchen. When Jane in that strange voice said _"You can't stop me. In fact you can kill her yourself..."_

It was a game to Jet. A sick twisted game. And in a way it wouldn't have mattered how that day turned out he still would have won. Because he had already fragmented Jane. He had already created alters and amnesia walls. When the mind of the Monarch victim contains different memory fragments, or even personalities, there's a need for a trigger, which can switch the victims alter from one to another. We would never have had Jane whole again or even have known she wasn't Jane until she herself noticed something was wrong. And that can sometimes take years. Years for a break or memories like dreams to come...those little signs that something is not right.

Madison suddenly bends down and picks up a clump of forget me nots and hands them to me.

I take them. I watch her discreetly wipe a tear that escaped off her cheek.

"You were there when I gave Jane flowers?"

She nods slowly. She doesn't correct me so I know for sure now it was Jane in the garden.

"You were there for it all." I whisper mostly to myself.

"Can't you tell her I am alive? That Jet didn't...that _she_ didn't kill me?"

Madison slowly shakes her head no, "She doesn't hear me, Dr Isles. It doesn't work like that. I often hear her and what she hears and sometimes I see what she sees. Mostly I just feel her. I can't make her come out or stop her doing anything. But even if she could hear me do you really think she'd believe me? A voice inside her head?"

I wondered if Jane thought I was an illusion or possibly a ghost. A memory that had given her flowers and held her hand. What did she think when she watched me in the facility. Did she think she was dreaming, that it was some sort of waking nightmare. Maybe she thought if she truly woke up then I would be gone forever. Maybe that is why she unconsciously allowed Madison almost full control.

 _The monarch uses the sensory organs on its feet to discern the true milkweed plant from the fake one. The butterfly approaches the plant and waves its front arms around the areas of the flower to 'taste it'. It then knows it is close to home and a place of security, regardless of where it is at that point in time. After the assurance of where it has landed, it plunges into the plant's rich fluid, which some describe as the spirit of the plant, and feeds until it is full. Once its energy has been replenished and its insides comforted, the monarch resumes its journey._

"How am I hurting her if she thinks I am dead?"

"Dunno. Maybe a reminder of what happened I s'pose." She mumbles kicking another stone across the path and into the tall grass.

I know Maddie doesn't mean it to be but it is a kick in the teeth. A reminder I really shouldn't be here. Should never have been here in the first place. If I am Jane's dream and I leave then she has no reason to stay in her half aware state. It is a theory at least.

"How can I get her to believe the truth then?"

Madison stops walking and looks at me carefully, contemplating.

"How long did it take you to convince me you really loved me?"

* * *

The butterfly symbol is everywhere in hollywood, on television, music videos and magazines. By way of tattoos, hairpieces, clothing, makeup, CD covers etc. Along with the symbol itself, it's also worth paying attention to how the symbol is portrayed…Two particularly occult meanings are when the butterfly covers one eye – which is symbolic of the Eye of Horus; or is placed over the mouth – which is 'silence' programming.

Music videos will also often associate the symbol of the monarch butterfly with being a rebel which is in fact a clear juxtaposition, given that Monarch programming is the most oppressive system in the world, and the polar opposite of being free and independent.

Victims are literally programmed to be silent, and those involved in the music industry have all taken a vow of silence. They show this programming by a finger over the mouth, it is a code amongst the Illuminati to never reveal the secrets of what they're involved in.

Freemasons are required to take an oath of silence to never disclose secrets, with the penalty of death. The symbol of silence also has ancient roots stretching back to ancient Egypt and Kabbalah.

I don't tell Amy a bedtime story. I wanted to leave her with something magical. Something beautiful and the opposite of the mind control Monarch programs esoteric meaning.

So instead I tell her about butterfly clusters. Maybe it would help them all heal together, or maybe she would remember it one day in the future when she needed it just like my fathers words had stayed with me.

"Did you know that Monarch butterflies migrate in a gigantic cluster that forms the shape of a butterfly. Just like that school of small fish in finding Nemo that together made the shape of a much larger fish."

She reaches out her hand for me to take, she must knows something is different, off with me. I believe children are often more perceptive than adults. She has not been told I might leave, she has been told nothing.

"Experts believe butterflies and fish gather together and unite for safety in numbers."

It is a remarkable discovery, that small fish and also butterflies have a sense of their true identity. To unite to make a larger shape identical to their individual shapes.

Jane's sense of Identity was currently in a group of alters that all together created the shape of Jane, the image of her. When her identity was healed she would hopefully be Jane again in every unique and intricately perfect way.

"What can we learn from this cluster formation?"

She doesn't attempt to answer, just watches me with curiosity. I'm not even sure if she understands what I am saying exactly.

"We can learn that if humans did the same, we could all be united instead of divided. We could all work together for something instead of working for ourselves and we would all be much safer."

She smiles at me and hugs Bass tighter.

I kiss her cheek and tuck her in.

* * *

Here is what I will take into my future whatever it may be. Here is what I learned that will benefit others in my path other than Jane.

I learned that one of the best ways to take over the world, is to control people's minds… and to take over a country through the control of the minds.

That millions of dollars have been spent harming people by the thousands through hundreds of programs over decades in order to learn how to control you.

The vast majority of what the public see and hear is controlled by only 6 corporations. Six.

The people involved in this who also own the media can easily twist the truth and defame anyone that talks. Virtually wipe the truth and replace it with what suits.

Also television is used to constantly portray trigger images in order to silently keep the control of victims.

That fear of standing up and out keeps everyone from questioning it. And cognitive dissonance allows us to cleverly ignore it.

That years of careful research and inhumane abuse have resulted in the ability for a few to brainwash the masses via tel-LIE-vision. The exact same mind control techniques that are used in Project Monarch to program mind-controlled celebrity slaves have been used and are being used against all of us, every single day!

And, that those victims are our fellow human beings, many of whom have clearly been abused as children through trauma-based mind control, in order to entertain us while telling us what is right and wrong, what to believe, and what is normal.

* * *

Katie was distraught. She emerged the moment the lights went out.

"If you leave then I will be trapped inside forever." The shrill voice comes out of the darkness.

I walk back into Jane's room and sit beside the bed.

"I'm sorry Katie. But if I don't leave then Jane might be the one trapped inside forever."

"Do you love her more than me?"

I smile softly at her and take her hand in mine, ironically it was the same hand I was holding only minutes earlier, "I believe you are one and the same. And I love you more than you will ever know."

The twinkle, the dimples, the loving eyes and the subtle coy smile.

I hug her tightly, it might be the last hug. I relish in it. I allow myself to just relax and enjoy it. When I finally pull away she leans in and places a kiss just on the corner of my mouth.

In a moment of weakness I surrender to her touch and I kiss her softly on the lips. It is soft. It is bittersweet. She closes her eyes. My insides flutter. My heart is weightless. _Jane._

It is deep memories and home.

When she does pull away she keeps her eyes closed.

"Thank you." She whispers

"Goodnight" I whisper back.

"Goodbye." She replies.

* * *

I will lock away in my heart these memories. Memories of love, love that tastes like half-eaten pineapple, feels like a gentle embrace, and smells like little blue flowers.

I love them...all of them. But preferably them all together as one mind and one body. Besides, I made a promise to Jane. That I would do whatever I had to do to make this right. Jane is what is important.

 _Jane._ My heart calls her name like a standalone rhythm. Boom boom Jane Boom boom Jane.

It's like that one hour tick on an otherwise silent clock.

It is a sharp painful irregularity that I need.

I should probably get it checked out by a doctor.

Anger and sadness are mixed with joy and hope.

Blue tastes like salty tears. Red sounds like home.

That night I pace the halls all over again like when we first arrived here. Old habits die hard I suppose. I am not left alone to wander like I once was. The nurses watch me now. Everyone watches me. I promised to not leave yet. I promised to think it over till tomorrow.

Angela is coming first thing in the morning because they think no one else will be able to get through to me. I don't object. I am depressed and I have been mildly drugged since this mornings session. On the outside I am calmer and can breathe but inside my thoughts continue undeterred.

There is a sense of relief in knowing that Jane is still in there. Her brain activity decreased the moment Madison left and it was only those few moments we had with Jane before she stopped responding again and it was several moments after that when Madison returned and turned on her chair with her back to us and arms crossed angrily.

 _"_ _If you want her, if you want to keep her, it will cost you everything you have."  
_ Did Jet's words back then continue to ring true even today, even after he was long gone. Would it continue to cost me for the rest of my life? Did I have to leave her forever so Red would be Red again? Would I continue to suffer until I existed no more.

I wondered how the world could be so messed up, and how most people barely noticed, how everybody assumed somebody else was looking out for us all, somebody else would speak out and fix things for us. How has I not seen the corruption before, not seen the conclusive evidence of satanic ritual abuse and torture on my table before. Why had I believed handing off a report with my findings was now for somebody else to take notice and do something about it.

I tried to list off the feelings going on inside me but there were too many. And they were cycling to quickly. It had been impossible to sleep. Maybe the light sedative had eased the pain because I no longer felt like I couldn't breath...it had even eased the guilt just a little.

I know too well how guilt feels at full-force. It makes your heart beat too fast and your body heavy. Your brain won't stop thinking the same thoughts over and you can't let it go.

It had been weeks now. And the hope that everything would eventually get better like last time that had once fluttered around my mind like an uncontrollable pest caught inside a small prison, was well and truly drowned.

It wasn't meant to be this way. Good things were meant to happen to good people...who taught me that...why would someone teach me such an impossible lie...imprint it so heavily into my belief system at such a young an impressional age. The lie was the reason I struggled to accept the reality, struggled to move forward. It was like I was still waiting for the good thing to happen...the happy ending, the _and they lived happily_ ever after...But really how often does that happen outside of rom-coms and action features. How often in real life do the bad guys get caught and the good people live a life full of good things? That wrong belief was the very foundation of the bitterness.

And bitterness as a chronic and pervasive state of smoldering resentment, regarded as one of the most destructive and toxic of human emotions. Bitterness feeds off of itself. The more bitter you are, the more miserable you feel; and the more miserable you feel, the more bitter you get. By repeatedly ruminating over how we and others have been victimized it eventually defines an essential part of _who we are_. And so we'll end up becoming victims not so much of anyone else but, principally, of ourselves.

The guilt was like icicles in my heart and the bitterness kept them frozen in place.

* * *

The following morning Angela finally cornered me in the common room after my several attempts to strategically avoid her. When she arrived this morning she had spent almost an hour with Dr. Hofstede and then set out on a mission to find me. I didn't want to be found, I didn't want to see her. I was afraid she would see me, see what had been going on inside me, the anger at the world, the guilt at myself, the sadness. My mother wasn't around much but I naturally suspected mothers instinctively knew things about their children surrogate or otherwise. I didn't want to be questioned. I didn't want her to try to persuade me to stay. I didn't want her to know what I was doing to myself. But I couldn't escape so I would have to face whatever tune was playing.

"Maura, Are you alright honey?"

One sentence and all I wanted to do was cry. She had the ability to allow me to feel loved and valued as much as Jane could. And her own daughter was the one that needed help, yet she cared about my wellbeing. They were the same in that way.

"What's wrong? You can talk to me, about anything sweetheart?"

Do I start with the fact that her daughter is here because of me and might be here for a long time still because of me, or do I start with how angry I am about it all.

"I'm just so frustrated with everything, Angela. I don't want to dump this on you, there is enough going on for you. I'm sorry. Don't worry about me. Jane needs you."

I'm not sure I meant to reveal so much.

I loved that she cared and hated that the anger tried to leave me because of the conflicting emotions. They both hurt my chest in almost identical ways. I wonder if that is what it means when they say love conquers all. Would I have to let all the bitter feelings go to feel the good ones again and again?

"Never be sorry Maura. And I do worry about you."

She pulls me into a tight hug and I naturally stiffen at first. The uncontrollable burning under my skin begins to cool...it could all disappear if I just let it...if I could just let it go...

"I am just so angry at absolutely everything." I breathe into her now damp frilly collar and her grasp tightens even more around me. _'Including myself'_ My thoughts finish the sentence for me.

"Oh baby, I understand. I really do." I'm not sure she does but I have no idea what Dr. Hofstede told her about Jane or myself.

I don't respond. Why was I holding onto all the negative feelings. Why was I leaving the door open to anger and his nasty friends. Was I gaining anything by holding onto them or did I risk losing everyone and everything in my life.

She pulls away and faces me directly. "Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. You can either be bitter or better but bitterness will steal your sweetness and destroy your ability to love and feel loved."

My mind tries to tell me it's too late too choose between bitter or better...I already became bitter...and maybe I don't want to be better or sweet. Maybe I needed to hold onto it. Maybe I can feel better by making someone that deserves it to suffer. To vindicate Jane. Maybe my heart will be able to be better and normal again if I just...

"I am hurting Jane" I whisper

"Honey, Jane needs you, the sweet and loving you, right now. She really does. Nothing will stop her forgiving you, nothing will keep you apart forever. And Jane would never _ever_ want to be the cause of your bitterness."

The tune was Beethoven's ninth symphony. It was honest and moving and profound.

And the bitterness melts away like ice in a firestorm.

* * *

...to be continued...


	15. Chapter 15

I am so so so sorry this has taken so long. I have been crazy busy AND I've had no 3G service...practically living in the wapwaps. AND I had a tiny little bit of writers block. I think I am back on track now. Extra long chapter to make up for my mini vanishing act.  
Thank you for your wonderful comments, encouragement...and especially for you patience. Sometimes I want to rush a chapter out just to give you something but I know I would regret it if I did. Please Enjoy. And I will get the next chapter up when I have internet next (whenever that is) ;) Blessings

* * *

CHAPTER 15 

Cycling from the heightened level of fear to an equally intense anger happens with such breathtaking speed that almost no one can recollect that flash of trepidation preceding the anger.

But anger is almost never a primary emotion in that even when anger seems like an instantaneous, knee-jerk reaction to provocation, there's always some other feeling that gave rise to it. And this particular feeling is precisely what the anger has contrived to camouflage or control.

So where did my fear come from. I knew I feel powerlessness so much of the time. While being angry did temporarily relieve this by deluding me into the perception of power...power over my feelings, power to get revenge...I didn't feel weak or helpless when my body was reacting physically to the anger. But it was not the source of my fear...

* * *

I spent the morning with Angela and Jane. But at the same remaining as distant as I possibly could. I introduced Angela to Katie first.

Hot blooded Italian may not have been Katie's culture but boisterousness suited them both. They got on like a house full of flames.

Katie's laughter bounced off the walls like thundering joy. It sounded so much like Jane that I though maybe it was, _just_ for a moment.

They talked about cooking and clothing and at times even giggled like best friends.

Katie did not call Angela 'Ma', but other than that, any onlooker would believe that this was in fact Jane and Angela having a enjoyable meaningful conversation. To me, they got on better than Jane and Angela ever did, but then in this instance, they were not _exactly_ mother and daughter. Katie was everything Angela wanted in a daughter. Dainty, polite, girly and sweet. That's not to say Angela didn't love Jane unconditionally.

Katie gave me a few long passing glances but Angela did not seem to notice. Or maybe it was no different than the looks Jane had always given me anyway.

Next Angela sat in the therapy session with Eliza and I watched the from the observation room. It was strange standing on the outside looking in. As usual the sessions were Amy's time to shine. As always the switch happened the moment the door to the therapy room opened and they saw Eliza sitting there.

She clutched her bear awkwardly under one arm and drew pictures with the other while talking about far away imaginary places in her small childlike voice to Eliza. Eliza tried to coax the others out but today Amy was being petulant. Angela sat on the very edge of her seat and stared intently like someone watching a thriller movie. It was her first time watching her daughter speak, think, draw and behave like a young child. I could see the disbelief in her face. I could almost feel the distrust emanating from her body. I don't think it was that she doubted it was real, it was Jane after all, it was possibly the shock of it all.

Hearing is always a far cry from seeing.

Amy looked around the room on occasion and my heart sank with the realization that she was looking for me.

Madison did not speak to Eliza today and neither did Katie or Jane.

Dr. Cisco Hofstede stood beside me watching, I don't know how long he had been standing there.

He spoke softly as he often did, always revealing small pieces of a bigger picture as the truth became more evident.

"We suspect Amy is the dream programming, or fantasy world. The flight from reality surrounding the core splits, that seems to protect them from contact with the outside world. She has been taught the world is brutal, cold and dangerous. She is completely disconnected from outside reality in an effort to buffer pain."

Being on this side of the glass has advantages I wasn't aware of. I get the analysis in live commentary form.

"And a part of her desire is the need for attention so the trick is to balance her trust while teaching her that caution is not a bad thing. And we also are careful she doesn't become dependent on Eliza for her security like she would have the handler"

I could tell by his tone he was a little disappointed I was leaving but contradictory as a friend he understood the emotional turmoil I was enduring everyday and often spoke in private with me that it might be for the best if I took a break from this.

"Cisco. When Jane came out of catatonia and started responding to questions I asked her if she knew it was me, and she affirmed she did know it was me. Then I asked if she knew I was alive and she affirmed she did. Yet now she thinks I am dead. I just don't understand."

 _'_ _But...Maur'... You're dead.'_

She used her favorite nickname for me so I had no doubt it really was her.

"Hmmm", Cisco watches the interactions on the other side of the glass in silence for a moment. "Monarch slaves and victims have an incredibly difficult time trying to differentiate between reality and fantasy because of all the mind programming they have been subjected too. During shock or stress, the body's limbic-hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal system releases substances which encode all the internal and external pieces of information being sensed into a deep level of consciousness. These memories often become dissociated from normal states of consciousness. In other words, when the mind-body returns to where it was in during shock or stress that is when the mind can re-access those memories. However, until the mind returns to this shocked state, it doesn't pick up the information it has embedded. The programmers are acutely aware of how the mind functions, and how information and memories can be trapped in the mind. There are different neurophysiological states and there are said to be 12 levels to the subconscious mind. Then on top of this the mind has the ability to create amnesia barriers."

It felt like a maze so deep we might never find the end or get back out. It was a stifling thought or possibly feeling. But now I understand why Cisco didn't believe my absence would change anything. And for just for a very brief moment I consider staying.

"They are programmed full of double-binds, for example they are told 'Don't believe any of this, it is all true.' Some of these double binds are well thought out and some just occur due to the craziness of the entire situation. This adds to the confusion of their realities."

"She sees me, hears me, feels me. How can she possibly believe I am dead. She spoke to me to tell me I was dead. If I was dead would you tell me I was?"

He gives a soft chuckle at the irony in the truth. Its somewhere along the lines of talking about not wanting to wake up dead one day.

"When Jane attempts to move out of the assigned spot in the mind, she will encounter traps, mazes, tunnels and demons just like in the movie Labyrinth. The internal world of her mind will have brick walls, doors and vortex tunnels. What she knows and sees at first it looks like one thing, but if the mind can get by the first look, it will turn out in reality to be something else. There is often cover programming over everything so that they don't trust their own mind."

"I wish I could get through to her."

"The front alters are usually rearranged in a fashion that the structure of the system is confused. There is heavy programming to convince them that nothing ever happened to them. Sometimes they are given fictitious stories about the programming, so that almost every item in a system has a cover story to mislead an alter about what is going on."

"Are you indicating that Jane is an alter."

He takes a sharp intake of air that causes me to hold my breath. This was something we had talked about once but not in detail. I had been in denial anyway. Any minute hint of having Jane in any way shape or form was fine by me and I did not want any complications. I wanted to believe it was Jane and I did, I had, I still wanted too.

"I will always be honest with you Maura. Historically, it has been very rare for a psychiatrist to help a victim beyond the merging of the front alters. And most of the time they are unaware that they are just front alters because the system is designed to protect the deeper core alters. Duplicate alters of most alters are created, so that even the alters themselves don't know if it is themselves or another alter. The alters, when threatened, are programmed to trick therapists or reprogram themselves back after therapy. So to answer your question, we don't know yet but it _is_ a possibility."

I don't know, we don't know, no-one knows, time will show. Sentences I despised. It was a reality that was very hard to accept.

"We don't believe he held Jane captive long enough to input some of the deep alter programming we often face here. That is unless as a child...", He stops there.

 _As a child_. Those words again. The unknown. He cannot or will not complete that sentence. But he doesn't need to because we both know that a sentence that begins that way will continue along the lines of 'she was traumatized by way of rape and satanic ritual abuse and programmed already...'

I hope for only one thing in that moment. That Jane did not go through anything like that.

"It is possible that Jane is just simply confused between fiction and reality. Every situation is different." He sighs and rubs his forehead.

I let go of the now stale air and intake fresh air. It is cool and clean and feels nice to my lungs.

 _Simply confused_. That would be nice.

"When building an internal world, the programmers use every trick in the book to hide things. First the abuse has to be hidden in silence, and then the disassociation has to be hidden. Next, the real core needs to be hidden. Then, the purpose of a Monarch slave needs to be hidden. With enough time the victim as well as the outside world will not be aware of the system of alters. Only the handler would know."

All I can do is nod and stare.

"But Jane is speaking now. So we can begin to unravel and sort out the alters and the system." He gives me a weak smile and I turn back to the window.

I watch as Eliza carefully removes the electrodes from Amy's head while she squirms and fidgets as a six year old would.

* * *

Next I began to explain to Angela the purpose of the electrodes and show her the machines that collect the data during the sessions. Then Dr. Hofstede shows Angela the analysis of the week of collected data. He shows her images of each alters brain when talking about the same topics and how the activity varied.

Angela looks frustrated and asks how they intended the fancy graphs and images to get her daughter back to her whole again.

Whole again. That was the aim. How? That was the million dollar question.

Dr. Hofstede was able to explain disassociate personality disorder textbook style to Angela in a way many would struggle, and also without delving into the mind control aspect as we had agreed. How they accomplished the programing of a victim or slave is not a story _any_ parent, especially a kind and loving parent, should ever have to hear. Angela grudgingly accepted that there were no easy answers or quick solutions for this. However she was amazing in her responses to my many questions regarding coping and caring for the alters in my absence.

Then it was lunchtime and for the first time since arriving it was Katie that ate lunch for the alters. Angela would not understand my surprise, could not understand it. Every meal I had had with Jane had been consumed by Amy or Madison and at times alternating both of them. I had almost become accustomed to them eating like food was scarce, the occasional using of fingers and both speaking, disturbingly, with half-chewed food in their mouths.

Katie appeared to have a somewhat proper upbringing with her table etiquette. Elbows tucked by her side off the table, using please and thank you as well as both a knife and fork, not playing with her food, wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin, and finally asking to be excused.

After lunch Amy surprised Angela with a brief visit a few times. Once to shyly introduce Bass to her and the second time to ask about going to see the ducks at the pond. Her visits were mid conversation and she seemed scared, twisting her hands together and keeping her chin tucked under her. When I told Amy we could see the ducks later, she smiled at me as she always does then she gave a sullen pout in Angela's direction. It wasn't surprising however, it had taken Amy over two days to master her fear before she warmed up to Eliza and began to trust and speak to her.

Angela turned to me in mild surprise. She told me that the pout was identical to Jane's when she was around ten years old and well used on occasions where she had to do chores while Frankie and Tommy were allowed to play their games. I always wondered how Jane was as a young child, I had only seen a few pictures. One day maybe I would be privileged to see more and hear the wonderful stories of her young life.

Madison made her appearances immediately after Amy's both times. She was as distrustful of Angela as she once was of me. She barely spoke and Angela tried to be gentle and kind but it was futile. Madison would come around if and when she wanted. I could only hope they would eventually find common ground.

After a short trip to the pond as promised, and a sweeping glance at the specks of bright blue amongst the wild gardens, I returned to pack my things. That evening I was to leave for the airport.

* * *

 _Do you remember those collectable toys that came in little foil packets. And your whole life revolved, at least for that short time in your adolescent life, to collect every single one. So with your pocket money every week you would buy one more and then one more. And every week you wondered which one it might be, every week you hoped it would be one you didn't already have and that you wouldn't have wasted your money buying one you already had. Until you only needed just one more to complete the set. And you hope to get the final one next time. And you wait until you have your pocket money in hand. And you enter the corner dairy full of excitement. And you squeeze and prod the many little foil packets one at a time just hoping you can feel the exact one you need. That final one. And every week Mr Burt the shopkeeper, after kindly allowing you adequate time to feel every single packet twice, tells you that it is 'supposed' to be a lucky dip surprise and you aren't really supposed to feel them all. So you sent up a silent prayer and picked the packet that felt most like the one you needed, or maybe the one your gut said to pick, and you hand over your now hot and sweaty coins, that large portion of your hard earned pocket money. Mr Burt would wink at you and wish you the best of luck with his soft yet crooked smile._

A car would pick me up in exactly 18 minutes.

I told myself I wasn't abandoning Jane. Angela was going to stay instead.

But It still felt like I was leaving her.

Blue was leaving red.

It still hurt regardless of if it was for the best.

Maybe a break would be good for me also. Hours and days with Jane's alters had taken their toll on my emotions. Maybe a break would be good for us both.

I left my bag by the entrance door and walked back towards the north wing to say goodbye to Jane and Angela. The familiar white halls and passageways had become my home and my refuge. The worn blue patchwork linoleum directed my path. I thought of all the nights I had paced along it without even seeing it, lost deeply in my thoughts. The times I pushed Jane in her chair around the bright halls, or led Amy to her room. The times I turned in the hall to find Katie watching from the doorway. The times I watched Madison hop around the lighter blues to entertain herself on the way to lunch. This place was as familiar as my own home now. Cheslea Michells room on the right. Observation room on the left. Common room on the right. Playroom on the left. Turn left at the corner. Nurses station on the right. Darcy Edwards room on the right. And Jane's room at the end on the left.

Jane was alone in her room. Sitting in Katie's favorite chair by the window staring out at the blossom trees. The ground looking like pale snow as the white petals still lay fallen against the green grass.

Jane was wearing a light blue teeshirt with black shorts and fluffy white socks, her long bare legs tucked against her chest and arms wrapped around them. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked peaceful and relaxed and somehow comforted. She didn't look in my direction or acknowledge my presence. I would remember this moment forever, watching her watching nature beyond the walls, looking like nothing else mattered in the world. She looked like Jane physically but so unlike her in demeanor. I had never been able to get Jane to relax. To enjoy silence. To just be.

After a moment I crossed the room to her and crouched near her feet.

"Hi"

 _It was lucky if you had friends you could trade your collectables for theirs with. It was lucky if you had two of one you liked the best. It was not luck when you had four of every single kind but none of the one you needed to have them all._

 _Now you sit on the cool concrete step outside in the hot afternoon sun and stare at that little foil packet. You are full to overflowing with anticipation and wonder. Your heart beats fast and your hands are wet with sweat._

 _What will it be today. What little object does the foil bag hold. And how can such a tiny thing stir up so many emotions all at once. Will it contain the one you want, the one you need, the one you desire..._

 _Who will it be._

Every single time I have faced Jane over the last month I would wonder and anticipate, who will answer me, and what will she say.

Will it be Amy. Will she giggle and pull a face then take me hand and ask me to play with her.

Will it be Madison, will she respond with an irritable growl and ask what I want before telling me what she wants to do.

Will it be Katie, will she smile and respond sweetly and ask how I am today.

Or will it be Jane who will stare at me with a sadness but say nothing at all.

 _Anticipation and wonder. Which collectable will it be. Will it be the final one, the one you waited for, hoped for, and have by now spent a small fortune to claim. It isn't so much the item that causes the feelings to collide inside you...It is the anticipation. It is a wonderfully exciting feeling that fills your entire body with butterflies. But you don't call it excitement right in that moment. Because it feels like a mix of dread and hope. And the moment you finally open the little packet, the anticipation and wonder are completely gone and you forget you even felt them._

I get no response at all. But she shifts her gaze in my direction. I am silently grateful that it is just Jane and myself. It almost seems too good to be true.

 _Jane._

"I have to go now sweetheart. I am not abandoning you. I love you. And I will be back."

I put my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her tightly, mainly so I don't cry myself.

 _And you finally hold the little item in your hand after such a long wait, the anticipation is gone, the dread is gone, the hope is gone. And you know what it is now, the wait is over and you don't wonder anymore. You know now. The surprise is gone. The tingly butterfly feeling is completely gone and you almost miss it...almost._

"I promise, Jane, this is just for a little while. This is because I love you, and there is a chance that you will get even better when I go."

 _A chance I am willing to take for us both._

She smells sweet like lavender and thyme, and she sighs ever so slightly and leans against me.

"I am alive and I don't know how to show you or make you understand that."

Her weight and warmth against my body is electric. It is like an old familiar feeling from distant almost faded memories.

"You didn't hurt me Jane, it was a setup to stop Jet. I shouldn't have done that to you and I am sorry. I am sorry for everything but especially for not being able to help you by staying."

It is a much longer goodbye than I anticipated but moments alone with Jane were rare.

Confessing felt like a terrible burden lifting off my heart.

Her hair tickles my nose so I tuck my face into her neck.

"I am so _so_ sorry." Words I must have said to her a hundred times and now once more. Words I had said every night and every morning while she was catatonic and I didn't know if she could hear it. And every day when she wasn't catatonic and I knew she heard it. A word that had been said so often it might have sounded empty but I meant every word with as much heart and meaning as if I was saying it for the very first time. That word would never convey my heart to her or change a single thing, yet I still said it because there was nothing else I could say. There were no other words that conveyed my feelings. I was sorry for so many things that a thousand sorries would not be enough. I was sorry she was here, sorry for why she was here and how she got here, sorry that she had suffered so much, I was sorry I was so angry about everything, I was sorry for staying and causing her more pain, and now I was sorry for leaving her.

 _I am sorry._

And then she speaks to me in a soft and gravelly voice. I feel it before I hear it. Her chest puffs out and she inhales. Again it sounds like an effort to speak.

"It's not your fault."

Her breath tickles my ear and her words hit my heart like exploding dynamite to iron chains.

And I had feel guilty. This whole damn time.

I hadn't been able to feel the guilt so much when I was righteously angry or even mildly angry because someone else was to blame...someone else was the guilty party.

I had been able to escape the feeling of guilt by merely thinking of Jet or the CIA programs or the bigger picture behind it all. And so I had been able to escape the crushing feeling of guilt and I took every opportunity I could get.

If anger intimates an almost irresistible impulse toward revenge, then forgiveness is mostly about renouncing such vindictiveness. And it can hardly be overemphasized that when one decides to forgive their wrongdoer, they are doing it for themselves. It's their welfare that's primarily at stake. For the longer you hold onto your anger, the more you'll sink into the destructive quagmire of ever-cycling feelings of hatred and resentment. And the more, over time, the anger will congeal into bitterness.

Forgiveness alone enables a person to let go of grievances, grudges, rancor and resentment. It's the single most potent antidote for the venomous desire for retributive justice poisoning your system.

But those moments like now, thats when I had to face the guilt. And whether Jane believed what happened to her wasn't my fault or that I had to leave her wasn't my fault, I was not sure, but It didn't matter. Her words had helped ease the guilt enough that I could, right then, completely let go of the anger, the hurt, the pain. It would be harder to move on away from this facility without those feelings but I needed to move on for Jane's sake as well as my own.

Forgiveness didn't mean forgetting. It meant focusing on the things I could change, the things I could do something about. It meant not becoming bitter and shutting out hope and joy from my life. Especially not shutting out Jane.

It would mean I could laugh without regret. Smile without self condemnation. Remember the good times without remorse.

And mostly I could breath, because the anger no longer suffocated me more as every layer of it pilled on thicker. And the guilt no longer crushed my heart like a constantly falling anvil.

I had to forgive because the poison was destroying me from inside.

My heart felt lighter in that moment that it ever had and I felt closer to Jane than I thought possible. Closer than we had been in years. But the moment was far far too short.

The car sped away too fast.

I couldn't see her sitting at the window.

Everything was a blur and my eyes were wet.

I felt compelled to leap out of the moving car and run back. Logic or the seatbelt I couldn't find the unlock button for kept me fixed in my seat staring out the back window.

The flight and the drive from the airport felt distant, an outer body experience. I was completely detached from my body.

And when I arrived at my dark and empty house I did nothing but cry.

* * *

SAUDADE

T _here are certain words with no direct equivalents in other languages. They are simply untranslatable. It goes to the idea that life is so varied and complex, it will spawn words as distinctive as snowflakes._

 _To understand another culture is to explore these words, these cultural truths for which there is no translation, though they remain knowable through imagination, emotion, experience, and love._

 _The natives of Tierra del Fuego, Argentina have the word mamihlapinatapai for a look shared between two people when both are wishing the other would do something neither wants to. In Thai there is greng-jai — when you don't want someone to do something for you because it would be a bother for him or her._

 _Saudade is one of these words and is generally considered one of the hardest words to translate._

 _Many of the following words will frequently appear in an attempt to explain it: longing, hope, fatality, nostalgia, yearning, missing, fondness, endearment, loneliness, feeling, emotion._

 _But if you have never felt Saudade then you will not quite grasp the depth of it's meaning._

Three calls on the first day. The first was from Angela after the morning session to tell me how it went. The second from Cisco after the data is collated and analyzed. And the final call from Angela after Jane is asleep for the night to fill me on the details of the day.

There were not enough details to satisfy me.

I could easily have climbed on a plane to go get more details from Angela and I had to force myself to stay home in my big empty and lonely house. How many years had I spent alone like this before she, before red, entered my life and changed it in such a beautiful way. Before her mother permanently occupied my guest house. My work was my everything but not because I needed the work or even the money, but because without the work my life had been almost completely empty...until Jane.

And now it is empty once again. But now it is worse, because before I could not miss something I never had.

Around me it is as if blue and red never met. Inside me it is like my heart is not in my body.

That large and empty hole inside blue that would forever remind blue of what she once had and what she had lost.

 _Saudade is a Portuguese and Galician term that is a common fixture in the literature and music of Brazil, Portugal, Cape Verde and beyond. The concept has many definitions, including a melancholy nostalgia for something that perhaps has not even happened. It often carries an assurance that this thing you feel nostalgic for will never happen again._

 _It is often written 'the feeling of missing something you love while knowing that its likelihood of return is unknowable and entirely left to fate.'_

 _It is not nostalgia where you reminisce about happy and sad emotions, instead you remember the happiness but feel the sadness knowing you cannot recapture the feeling._

 _It is the knowledge of absence possibly indefinitely. But there is also some tiny speck of comfort because even in the sorrow there is joy in the hope of recovering something that will fill the presence of absence._

I pried every detail out of Angela to occupy my mind and ease the separation.

Amy had been a little upset to wake to my absence but after dressing in a mismatched teeshirt and slacks had eaten breakfast. Then she had been replaced by Madison who seemed to not care much about anything, or show it at least. Instead of Amy it was Madison that was the only participant of the morning session with Eliza and opted to say very little. Amy popped by again at lunchtime and smooshed all the sandwiches together and drew a picture of a rainbow in every shade of red she could find. Angela and Madison went for a walk in the garden but It seemed Katie was the most comfortable around Angela which genuinely surprised me. Katie was the most open with Angela and talked about lots of things just like the day they met.

I forced Angela to tell me what they did, how they behaved and when, what they said about me, what was said at the sessions.

How I longed to be there and witness it myself.

 _Undoubtedly valuable in our effort to understand such a beautiful, sweeping and culturally significant word is its cultural, rather than etymological, origin. It is very telling that saudade came from such a maritime culture as the Golden Age Portuguese. The wives and children of the sailors who leave and are at sea for long periods of time. Sailors' families were perhaps the first to feel real saudade, not knowing if their loved one would ever return, but also being proud of their spirit and accomplishments._

 _In Brazil itself, the immigrants coming to Brazil and leaving their native homelands behind, never to return, but also never relinquishing their love and devotion to their origins._

 _The farmers who left the Sertão during the great droughts and moved to Brazil's modern urban centers in search of a new way of life; they feel real saudade, hoping, praying, and singing about one day returning with the rain to their native farmlands in the north of the country._

Cisco called me the next morning to ask how I was. I was touched by the care of my oldest friend. He talked about progress like he always had. He told me again he was sure my absence was unnecessary. His voice told me he wished I was there. I kept that I wanted the same locked away in my heart for now.

This was for Jane, whatever the cost.

I would give everything to see red dance across the canvas like she once had.

And preferably that blue might be just behind red and blur some of the colors occasionally as they once did.

Familiar pangs of guilt crossed my heart at the thought.

 _"_ _It's not your fault"_

Her words were like a healing balm and I let the guilt slide past and away and the anger never came to cover it.

 _Saudade._

I felt saudade every moment since the shooting. I missed and longed for Jane's return even though it may not be possible. And the sorrow now felt deeper inside me since I left because now I missed Katie, Madison and Amy. They were all parts of the Jane I loved, they had filled the absence, the loss, the sadness that Jane might not return, the Jane I had missed for so many weeks now. There was no knowing if she would come back with or without my presence.

It felt like a part of myself had been left at the facility and I knew I would struggle to go on without it.

But Red was still there somewhere, she was not gone, not extinct. And somehow she would come back in some way.

Again my heart felt just a little bit lighter.

Like the flutter of butterflies wings.

Like helium.

* * *

The following day Angela tells me that Madison stayed away all day and it was Katie for the entire session. She was mostly quiet but did answer some of Eliza'a questions.

I don't tell Angela that Katie has never come out in a session. I hold onto it as change and change must be good. Or confusion. Protection.

Amy only came out once briefly. Angela has determined she is shy of her and will come around with time.

Later Cisco tells me Angela is doing really well and has not yelled at them once. She was and is still a wonderful mother.

Cisco also tells me that the session brain scans tell a different story. The data is currently inconclusive and they will know more soon. And I hear his theory only because he says Jane's name so often and I need to hear it, hear him talk about her.

 _"_ _It is possible Jane is appearing more and more."_

He manages to keep the hope out of his voice. I am sure he doesn't want me to believe it _is_ because of my absence after all.

 _"_ _The patches of data we have here match the data of those times when it was Jane. The activity areas are identical. In those moments she doesn't speak or anything like that which seems to line up. But the interesting thing is those brief segments appear to be when another alter is still active. It's like Jane can come out at the end of a sentence or paragraph of another alter, for a moment or more. That duration may be by choice or not. At this stage we don't know but time will tell."_

Time. Hope. Love.

* * *

...To be continued...

and to be fair I didn't leave it on a cliffhanger


	16. Chapter 16

Amazing reviews! Thank you so much. You guys are the best :)  
You make writing worth it. I'm glad you love it but please don't be late for work because of it. lol.

* * *

CHAPTER 16

* * *

Cisco told me once that the mind was underrated.

That it can decide to control its breathing, heart beat, blood pressure and other things that were once thought to be involuntary. That the brain produces a substance which is a tiny peptide molecule called enkephalin which acts just like morphine and reduces pain.

"The brain can even be hypnotically trained to release enkephalin so that the brain doesn't perceive pain. The fantastic abilities of the mind to control what happens to it are very remarkable, such as its natural healing abilities, but most of this is being kept a National Secret. Several people in intelligence agencies quietly bemoan the fact that secret research could be really helping humanity instead of controlling it."

PURPLE WITHOUT ANY RED

Today I wrote in my dairy.

 _Jane can over-ride or pop in at times. But from my past experience Madison seems to have some control over Jane whether or not by Jane's choice. But Madison only comes out to protect the others, but she was out a lot...maybe I was the threat, she was protecting them from me regardless of if the protection was warranted or not. Katie is comfortable with Angela but is possibly in conflict with Jane over myself. That might have been why Madison was almost always around with me when Amy wasn't. And Katie only around when we were alone. I still don't understand Amy's role in it all yet. Why she was the first to appear? Why not Madison first if I was a threat to Jane. And why is she hiding now?_

I wish I understood. Jane was, in a way, always complicated to me.

Having Angela take my place may turn out to be as revealing as the sessions themselves.

I wait in hope for the next call...

The first day I had slept most of it away. Maybe it was exhaustion. Relief. Calmness. Distance. Sadness.

I wake only for phone calls.

The second day I had spent most of it in bed. Maybe it was sadness, depression, boredom, loneliness or exhaustion.

By the third day I don't think I can stand it anymore.

Blue began to see no reason to move without red.

I wanted to get back to Jane as soon as humanly possible if not earlier.

Angela calls me again. She is unaware of my conversations with Cisco. She is unaware my life revolves around the waiting for those calls for an update. And the hours I spend afterwards analyzing and evaluating the new information. Filtering out the guilt and anger and focusing on solutions and hope.

She tells me everything and anything and I can breathe once again.

Sometimes she is ecstatic and other times she is upset. Tonight she read Amy a bedtime story and at the end Amy told her she had read it all wrong and that Mara had to come back and read it. So Angela was upset, disappointed in herself, and saddened that Jane was rejecting her.. I comforted Angela as best I could over the phone, letting her know Amy had often scolded me for the way I told a story or that the ending was wrong. It wasn't personal. I also reminded Angela that this fragment of Jane, this alter, could not understand what was going on, that she had the mentality of a six year old even though it appeared to be Jane and the mind of the child was not her daughter. I told her a little of how I was there when Amy first emerged, small details that wouldn't further upset her. Teddybears, lollipops, yellow pyjama's and pouting faces.

It occurred to me how difficult this must be for Angela and it reminded me of how difficult I had really found it for the first week, beneath the facade I had carried for Jane's alters sake as well as the other doctors and my own sake.

"Give it time Angela, it will get easier."

 _Time. Hope. Love._

"I don't want it easier, I just want my Janie back." Her voice breaks at the end and the sobs feel like sharp paper cuts.

I can't promise her her daughter back, I can't even promise everything will be ok soon, or ever.

A pang of guilt ebbs it's way in and I manage to push it back. _This is not my fault._

I want to hug Angela. I should be there for her. I left her in a situation she shouldn't have had to be in.

"You just need to be there for her."

I wish it could be me. I wish I could be there for Jane.

It turns out that life outside of Jane is like running on a hamster wheel.

It feels like going around in circles slowly to nowhere.

Everything I do I compare to what I would be doing there, back at the facility, or worse, I imagine if it had never happened and Jane was here with me.

Jane making instant coffee in my kitchen.

Jane asking me what some unfamiliar fruit in the fruit bowl was.

Jane drinking a beer on my couch.

Jane pulling a face when I suggest a dinner other than junk food.

Jane arriving to go jogging with me.

Jane being sarcastic.

Jane hiding in my closet from her mother.

Jane lying on the mattress next to me.

Her absence is physically painful.

I don't go to work yet because I have only just given notice I am back.

My house is immaculately clean and there is nothing left to clean.

The house is just so, for lack of a better word, empty.

I miss red.

I spend fifteen minutes making an expresso coffee just to drink it alone.

I have warm oats and honey at the breakfast bar...alone.

I used to do this every day at one time and I called it normal. I called it my life. Living.

But now I would swap all the order and quietness in the world immediately for just one more morning at the facility even if it means Amy fighting with me to have jello instead of cereal in the middle of the dinning hall with ten other patients of which at least two are having a tantrum of some sort.

I call Frankie but he is working on a case with Korsak.

Kent is at work and too busy to take my call.

Tommy is with TJ.

Hope is at a charity function.

My mother is somewhere abroad as is my father.

And Angela, of course, is with Jane.

I had already been shopping more than once already and the cupboards will full to overflowing.

I have shopped online and watched the shopping channel for too many hours.

I jogged four kms and tried not too think of her.

I watched the children play at the park.

I watched the ducks at the pond...alone.

I went to the local market fair and then to the beach to sit in the sand.

But I didn't enjoy a second of it.

Alone.

And then I am home again, alone, to the emptiness that surrounds me.

To bide my time I decide to clean up my study. It's about time I organized it for when I returned to work or possibly wrote another book. And frankly there was nothing else left to do inside the house.

In my organizing I found three things that decidedly would take front place on the now clear desk-top.

The first was a framed photo of Jane and myself that was hiding in the bottom drawer. It was one Jane had taken when she was upset that she wasn't in any pictures with me. I feel myself smile at the memory of her doing a impromptu selfie beside me. Her large cheesy fake smile, and myself, on the phone, looking slightly stunned beside her. She had framed it in a modern black frame and given it to me as a christmas gift. She laughed uncontrollably at my reaction when I opened the gift, and when she finally made sense amongst the giggles said, "Your face when you opened that looks _exactly_ like it does the picture." Then she proceeded to laugh for several more minutes.

I had not ever publicly displayed it partly because the picture was so confusing and partly through sheer embarrassment of my reaction. But now I realize it was still the only photo I had of us together and I wouldn't let it be forgotten again.

The second item was a Greta Oto butterfly in a small sealed glass case in the bottom of my filing cabinet, which had been carefully wrapped in fabric. It was gift from my father on my thirteenth birthday. My father had written a note on the frame:-

 _'_ _Maura, It's scales are colorless. Believing is not always seeing. Believe in yourself my darling because we both see greatness in you. Love Dad'_

My father had obtained the immaculately preserved insect in a glass case when traveling through Columbia where the small surreal creatures are most abundant. It hung on my wall above all my certificates at home until I left for university, then it was boxed until my return. It was too precious a gift to risk taking with me during the next part of my life journey.

A Greta Oto is otherwise known as the 'glass winged butterfly'. In Spanish it is referred to as Espejios, or 'little mirrors'. It is found mostly in South and Central America with sightings as far north as Texas and as far south as Chile.  
Despite the delicate looking wings it is able to carry up to 40 times it's own weight. They can travel up to 12 miles per day at speeds of up to 8 miles per an hour.  
It naturally hides from predators by camouflaging into the background during it's flight.  
They belong to the Lepidoptera order of insects, the same as the Monarch.  
Transparency of the Greta Oto's wings is the combination of the low absorption of visible light in the smooth wing material, and low reflection of light impinging on the wing's surface. Basically, the wings barely reflect any light.  
The broadband and omnidirectional anti-reflection properties originates from nanopillars, whose radii are below the wavelengths of visible light, standing on the wing's surface which ensures a gradient of refractive index between the incident medium, the air, and the wing's membrane. The nanostructure on the wing's surface appear to be scattered with no regard for regular size or equal distribution.  
This irregularity and chaos is in stark contrast to nature.  
However this irregularity and chaos is what causes the light spectrum ranging from infrared to visible to ultraviolet to be able to travel straight through the wing tissue unhindered.  
Similarly to the Monarch caterpillar, Greta Oto caterpillars would not survive without it's initial diet of poisonous plants.

The small and remarkable butterfly reminded me of Jane. Beautiful, unique, irregular, strong and almost invisible to most people.

Jane was my beautiful chaos.

The final item I also received when I was thirteen. It was a framed certificate for a school assignment for english. I decided to do my presentation on endangerment and extinction of animals. I had no help from any parent, teachers or peers.

* * *

It is a heartbreaking discovery for a child who loves animals to discover that one day there may be no more of any number of species.

I still remember how my voice sounded so lost and alone in the large classroom. A classroom that was never this quiet and still. The eyes of my peers stared at me without care or concern but I did not look at them. I did not wish to see them rolling their eyes at me. Most students topics this year were about some new television series or game. Only two students presentations were of any interest to me. One was on the art of socializing and the other, a girl, was on the skill of how to hypnotize a chicken that she had learned while in Africa. Sadly she was not permitted to demonstrate for the class.

I stood at the front of the class and starred at the teacher sitting at the back of the classroom, and all I could hear was myself...

"Although extinction is a natural phenomenon, it occurs at a natural background rate of about one to five species per year. But scientists estimate we are losing species at 1,000 to 10,000 times the background rate, with literally dozens going extinct every day."

As a child I felt helpless to change the world.

"In the past 500 years, we know of approximately 1,000 species that have gone extinct, from the woodland bison of West Virginia and Arizona's Merriam's elk to the Rocky Mountain grasshopper, passenger pigeon and Puerto Rico's Culebra parrot — but this doesn't account for _thousands_ of species that disappeared before scientists had a chance to describe them. Nobody really knows how many species are in danger of becoming extinct but there are 14,000 to 35,000 endangered species in the United States, which is 7 to 18 percent of U.S. flora and fauna."

Even as a child it was clear to me that many thousands of species were at risk of disappearing completely forever in the coming decades.

"Across the globe, 1,851 species of fish, 21 percent of all fish species, were deemed at risk of extinction, including more than a third of sharks and rays.

12 percent of known 9,865 bird species are considered threatened, with 192 species facing an "extremely high risk" of extinction in the wild.

Globally, 21 percent of the total evaluated reptiles in the world are deemed endangered or vulnerable to extinction. Island reptile species have been dealt the hardest blow, with at least 28 island reptiles having died out since 1600. It is estimated that 50 percent of the world's primate species are at risk of extinction."

As an adult I feel helpless to change the world.

"Half the globe's 5,491 known mammals are declining in population and a fifth are clearly at risk of disappearing forever with no less than 1,131 mammals across the globe classified as endangered, threatened, or vulnerable. In addition to primates, marine mammals, including several species of whales, dolphins, and porpoises, are among those mammals slipping most quickly toward extinction. No group of animals has a higher rate of endangerment than amphibians. Scientists estimate that a third or more of all the roughly 6,300 known species of amphibians are at risk of extinction."

My father often spoke of species he had seen on his many adventures that were disappearing, for the most part, because of humans. Loss of habitat and loss of food sources where what he thought caused the most damage. I always wanted to go with him on his travels but he always left me behind.

No-one in the class clapped when I completed my presentation.

I lost and gained zero friends.

My teacher gave me an A+.

My father told me he was proud of me.

I tried to encourage my peers to recycle and live green.

I made my parents live cleaner and greener and change the family car to a more environmentally economical vehicle.

With my help, the school started native planting extra-circular activity and a wildlife donation and volunteer program.

And at the end of the year I received a certificate of achievement for my influence.

And I could do nothing but cry because there were only fifteen northern white rhino's left in the world and my paper would never change that. My teacher could not change that, nor my peers or parents.

Today there are only three left in the world.

* * *

RUNAWAY

The next phone call was barely three hours after the last. It was Angela. It woke me from a somewhat restless sleep.

It was garbled and confusing and I thought I heard Amy crying in the background which made it even harder to focus on what Angela was saying. My heart lurched like it wanted to teleport to them.

"Lost her...she ran away...they can't help...she's upset...Maura...so upset...needs you...help her..."

Usually when Angela gets upset she can't speak and has to write it down. That is not an option here so I try to piece together the fragments of sentences I had. Facts with no context.

What I gathered from Angela's confusing message is that Jane had tried to escape from the facility and they were now having trouble calming her down and they need me to come.

Without a second thought I take the next flight back.

Maybe it was that I left, maybe it wasn't. I left. I left her. I am too concerned to feel the guilt but it is there, just below the surface waiting for an opportunity to pounce, to get me again.

I get off the plane in a state barely remembering to flick my phone off flight mode. The flight was long and I was told I could not pace between the seats as it was 'upsetting passengers'. That I could not divert all my frustrations into walking made the flight that much longer. In saying that a ten minute flight would have been too long for me.

As I rush from the terminal to the car my phone dings with a two text messages.

 _'_ _It is ok Maura, Jane has settled now'_

It was from Angela from almost 30minutes ago, I feel ever so slightly better as I climb in the car and open the next message which is from Cisco Hofstede.

 _'_ _You must be on your way here since your phone is off and Angela admitted she called you in a panic. I apologize she beat me to it. I know you are probably freaked out but you don't need to be, Jane is fine. And this is why Jane is here anyway, we are prepared for this type of thing, used to it even. This is not out of the ordinary in any way. Anyway, feel free to call me..otherwise I suppose I will see you pulling up any minute now. We might have a welcoming party at the door :) Don't drive like a maniac. Cisco'_

I start the engine and put it in gear and do not drive like my life depended on getting there this very second.

* * *

The welcoming party is Lisa one of the nurses. And it's not so much a welcoming party than a welcome back hug. She apologizes that it's only her and explains quickly that there is a impromptu session taking place. She offers to take my bag but in my blind rush I didn't even bring one. Then she motions for me to follow and leads me through the entranceway and along the northern corridor. The familiarity hits me first. Walls, floors, lights, doors. Familiarity like that tune on a childhood music box.

"Where is Angela?"

I can't understand why she didn't meet me at the door, after all she was the one that called me, she is part of the reason I am back.

"In Jane's room right now. She is calmer."

Lisa smiles at me then turns towards the main control room.

"We are trying not to cause her any more stress."

She stops in front of the door and carefully punches in the door code, pushing the door open the moment the light changes to green. It strikes me how calm she is, like it is just another day and nothing is amiss.

As I walk past Lisa into the control room I find the only thing amiss is that more than half the team is in dressing gowns and I have to stifle a laugh but cannot completely hide my smirk.

"Hey" Cisco calls out to me, a bemused tone in his voice, "No one laughed at you when you were running around in your pajamas."

He is almost laughing himself as he pulls a chair over for me.

"Come look" He motions me to his side and I am there without telling my feet to move.

I look through the observation window and see Jane curled up in a chair facing Eliza. It is a bit darker in the session room than usual. It could almost be called mood lighting.

Cisco gestures to the two monitors on the control panel.

Deja-vu.

I am in the same room, around the same time of day, the same team, the same monitors.

The only difference being last time it was me that was me in pj's and this time I am the only one that looks like I didn't just crawl out of bed.

"Look" He nods towards the monitor on the left.

Did you know then looking at micro expressions and reactions of a person from a 2 dimensional image always shows a lot more than looking at them directly in third dimensional. You can see _more_ , more feeling, emotions, fears..everything...just more. All the things the person will try to hide that you cannot always see in reality show through on the monitors.

It's like you can see through the many layers to what is really hidden at the bottom. The true fear, the true joy, the true sadness, the true pride, the true pain.

The differences between the monitors today, and the ones from months ago, is that what was happening now was not a playback recording, and the room was not of Jane's room but the regular counseling room.

No longer was it a confused six and a half year old fearfully hiding behind her bed, but it was one of the alters curled up in a defensive ball in a chair facing Eliza.

One monitor is a wider shot of them both and the other is a close up of Jane's face. And behind the monitors is the one way mirror with both Jane and Eliza just on the other side.

Jane's skin is covered in perspiration making her cheeks glow in the dim light. Her hair is damp and, excluding a few wet strands stuck to her skin, is pushed back off her face. Her face itself is pale and gaunt and her eyes look heavy with concern or fear.

She is curled tightly into a ball in the chair with her arms wrapped around her middle and her legs in front of her like a shield.

My first instinct is it is Amy.

She speaks.

 _"_ _I was scared. No. No, Jane was scared. No-I-I-I don't know.."_ Her gruff pitchy voice breaks and she curls even tighter into a ball on the chair.

It didn't sound like Amy. Or Katie for that matter.

"Who?" I ask on instinct.

"It's Maddy" Cisco replies promptly.

 _Madison._

Madison didn't sound her usual gruff semi-annoyed tough self. Her voice was higher than usual and wavering uncontrollably, at times just a whisper like her voicebox momentarily refused to produce any sound. She sounded much like a teenage boy whose voice is in the process of breaking.

It was quite like Jane when she was upset or overly emotional. Rare moments when her strength all but vanished. Mere seconds where her voice betrayed her vulnerability while the rest of her body was able to hide it.

Madison afraid? What sort of twisted divergent mess was this.

Madison...usually sitting with legs spread and arms over either side of the chair.

Madison...usually laid back and calm.

Madison...usually speaking in a growly voice and unmovable tone.

Madison...usually distant and strong and tough.

Madison...usually in full control of the session.

Madison...usually fearless.

My heart feels heavy and my insides feel like they melt and I wish the glass was not between us right now. All I want to do is hold her and comfort the upset teenager.

Eliza leans back in her chair giving her more personal space than necessary.

" _I- We had to-to leave. We-we had to run. I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry we tried to leave but she was really scared."_

"How long has she been in there?"

"About fifteen minutes but she has only been talking for about five. You haven't missed anything relevant."

 _"_ _Who was scared Madison?"_

It was a cough or a hiccup and a desperate gasp of air. And then her hands moved from hugging herself to cover her face completely. You could see by her hands that she was shaking. She was terrified. No not terrified...petrified.

Eliza saw it too.

 _"_ _You aren't in trouble Maddy, none of you are. I promise."_

It was the first time I had heard Eliza use Madison's nickname. But the softness and gentleness in her tone along with the familiar nickname seemed to work. A promise usually didn't work with Madison either but this time seemed to be the exception to the usual like everything else.

Her shaking subsided slightly and her breathing evened out but her hands stayed covering her face.

"She got as far as the nurses station. We decided to see what she would do if no one stopped her, where she would go."

"What did she do?"

Cisco's usual calm semi smile falls away completely, "She hid."

 _"_ _Who was scared Maddy?"_

 _"_ _I can't. I don't know. I can't s-say. I can't..."_

 _"_ _You can. No one here will hurt you. No one is mad. We just want to help."_

Madison continues to hide behind her hands. She reminds me of a child, of Amy, believing that safety resides in remain unseen.

 _"_ They are taught over and over again that disobedience will be punished harshly by various means. As well as talking. And they pay the price dearly."

"Price?"

"The price for speaking out is paid by reliving for a second time what has been done to them, and fighting off the suicide programs that click on when the victim's mind disobeys. They must also fight off torture memories that recycle. These torture memories are activated by the programming when an alter disobeys its programming."

 _"_ _He will wipe me out"_ she whimpers her voice wavering.

"Internally, the System must protect all information and history that relates to the creation and use of the slave. All the structuring and codes of the System are also secrets and need to be guarded. The programming and the very things that the slave can think about need to be guarded. Often a guard or gatekeeper is programmed into the system. The slave is meant to be entirely self-governing."

 _"_ _He cannot touch you here Maddy."_ Eliza pleads

Madison drops her hands slowly away from her face and glares at Eliza,

 _"_ _He can."_ It is halfway between a cry and a scream. _"He has ways..."_

* * *

Bumblebees, beetles and butterflies are at greater risk of extinction than lions and tigers, according to a global study by the Zoological Society of London.

An estimate of 3.4 million insect species live on Earth.

Since a very small percentage of the insect diversity has been assessed, the number of species that went extinct within the last 100 years is likely to be very high. Scientists agree that many species are going extinct, however, it is unclear how many have been lost and how many more are at risk.

Few of these extinctions are documented because insects in general are poorly studied. In addition, insects are small and difficult to find, making it difficult to confirm whether species have vanished for good.

A survey of British wildlife suggests that insects thought to be among the most resilient species are suffering similar extinction rates to larger, better-studied animals.

If the same is happening worldwide, at a similar rate as some other life forms, then about thousands of species could have disappeared over the same time period.

The loss of keystone insect species is especially detrimental for ecosystems and people. Plant-eating insects are likely to vanish when the plants they feed on die. A massive population decline in chestnut trees due to chestnut blight in the 20th century took at least three species of butterfly with it.

Fifty nine insect species are known to have vanished in our modern time, however, thousands are estimated to have disappeared. In the United States, 160 insect species are presumed to be extinct or missing.

Of 58 butterfly species, 71% have declined or disappeared over the past 20 years, alongside 54% of birds.

Butterflies in the UK have suffered one of their worst years on record, with 70% of all species experiencing a decline in numbers over the past year. There are more than 20 butterflies and moths listed as endangered.

One of the causes for the decline in monarch butterflies during the migration and hibernation are the reduction in milkweed availability as it is often seen as just a plain 'weed' that reduces crop yields and is toxic for cattle and so the introduction of glyphosate herbicide in the '90s, together with increased planting of genetically modified glyphosate-tolerant corn and soybeans, that monarch populations began to drop sharply.

Because of the use of this herbicide, there has been a 58 percent decline in milkweed availability and an 81 percent decline in monarch production in the Midwest from 1999 to 2010. The past 40 years has seen declines in 28% of plants studied.

Through photosynthesis, plants provide the oxygen we breathe and the food we eat and are thus the foundation of most life on Earth. They're also the source of a majority of medicines in use today. Unlike animals, plants can't readily move as their habitat is destroyed, making them particularly vulnerable to extinction. Of the more than 300,000 known species of plants, only 12,914 species, finding that about 68 percent of evaluated plant species, are threatened with extinction.  
With plants making up the backbone of ecosystems and the base of the food chain, that's very bad news for all species, which depend on plants for food, shelter, and survival.

Invertebrates, from butterflies to mollusks to earthworms to corals, are vastly diverse, and though no one knows just how many invertebrate species exist, they're estimated to account for about 97 percent of the total species of animals on Earth.

Of the 1.3 million known invertebrate species, about 9,526 species, with about 30 percent of the species evaluated at risk of extinction. Freshwater invertebrates are severely threatened by water pollution, groundwater withdrawal, and water projects, while a large number of invertebrates of notable scientific significance have become either endangered or extinct due to deforestation, especially because of the rapid destruction of tropical rainforests. In the ocean, reef-building corals are declining at an alarming rate and a third of reef-building corals are threatened.

And of bees...

* * *

Please heed the warnings at the top of the next few chapters. The next 2 chapters are very descriptive snd get very serious and this chapter is essentially the last 'safe' chapter until CHAPTER 19. Anyone skirmish or worried about triggers can skip to where it **is** 'safe' again ( _Chapter 19 )_  
Please heed the warnings... (I am the sort of impatient reader that ignores writers comments at the start and end myself so I get how tempting it is but please don't do that.)

* * *

...to be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

THIS CHAPTER MOST LIKELY CONTAINS MIND CONTROL TRIGGERS. IF YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE BEEN MINDCONTROLLED THEN PLEASE PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER AS WELL AS THE NEXT ONE.

THIS CHAPTER IS ALSO EXTREMELY DESCRIPTIVE AND DISTURBING. THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. THIS IS MORE DESCRIPTIVE THAN ANYTHING I HAVE WRITTEN SO FAR AND POSSIBLY ANYTHING YOU WILL READ ANYWHERE. I HARD A HECK OF A HARD TIME WRITING ABOUT EXPERIENCES THAT I KNOW PEOPLE HAVE PERSONALLY BEEN THROUGH.

FINALLY...I do not own the Rizzoli and Isles characters...ALL OTHER INFORMATION ,AS FAR AS I KNOW, IS FACTUAL AND TRUE AND CAN BEEN RESEARCHED.

On a personal note... Thank you everyone for your comments and reviews. Sorry for the time this chapter has taken. I really don't know for sure why I kept finding reasons not to work on it. It probably has errors but if I don't put it up literally right NOW then I will procrastinate putting it and the next 3 chapters up for at least another week. Forced motivation haha. Once I add it I will have to finish fast. For those that read I would really be interested in your thoughts on it...too factual...unnecessary...etc. Bless you all and hope you do enjoy.

* * *

CHAPTER 17

 _"_ _He cannot touch you here Maddy."_ Eliza pleads

 _"_ _He can. He has ways..."_

* * *

 _In 2001, the 'H.R. 2977' , cited as the 'Space Based Preservation Act of 2001', preserved the cooperative, peaceful uses of space for the benefit of all humankind by permanently prohibiting the basing of weapons in space by the United States, and required the President to take action to adopt and implement a world treaty banning space-based weapons._

 _The term 'space' refers to all space extending upwards from an altitude greater than 60km above the surface of the earth._

 _The terms 'weapon' and 'weapons system' included a device capable of the following: directing a source of energy, including molecular or atomic energy, subatomic particle beams, electromagnetic radiation, plasma, or extremely low frequency ELF, or ultralow frequency ULF, energy radiation, against that object, through the use of land-based, sea-based, or space-based systems using radiation, electromagnetic, psychotronic, sonic, laser, or other energies directed at individual persons or targeted populations for the purpose of information war, mood management, or mind control of such persons or populations._

* * *

As we watch Madison on the monitor, a fresh silent wet tear trickles down her cheek and drips off her chin. I'm not sure it is Madison crying. It's possible she is simply expressing the emotions of one of the other alters.

Everyone watches motionless like statues anticipating and waiting for what would come next.

What she would say.

Could say.

In the pause that feels like forever I wonder what Maddy could mean. What had he done that was so terrifying for them even now so far away. Did he really have a way to harm them even here and now. Or was that a fear he created in them. Or was it when he was alive he had a way. Or was there someone behind him that could still hurt them. Was this fear in her...this control, physically, mentally and emotionally...was this total brokenness his end game.

He had been hell bent on assuring me he had full control 'this time'. I remember his smug face, his arrogant laugh. Was he to somehow win, even in death. Would Jane be lost and the others be forever his?

Cisco had spoken at a conference a few years back about the use of remote mind control technologies.

He spoke of the research into electromagnetic spectrums weapons that had been secretly carried out in the US and Russia since the fifties.

* * *

 _"_ _In the 1950s, intelligence agencies were interested in changing mental states. The theory was that brain waves can be tuned to a different EMR frequency and can change moods and character. A CIA memo stated that they were looking for behavior control to enhance consciousness. Experts agree that electromagnetic radiation can affect behavior, but the question is whether the radiation can be harnessed and used on people at a distance. With its MKULTRA program the CIA began looking for the answer in the early 1950s. In the 1979 book, "Search for the Manchurian Candidate, The CIA and Mind Control" by John Marks, Marks filed a freedom of information act request._ The CIA replied that _"it had a roomful of files on electromagnetic and related techniques to alter behavior and stimulate the brain."_ But, the agency _"refused to release the papers, and they remain classified."_

Cisco spoke of a patent owned by Sony named 'Sony Brain Waves Manipulation by Ultrasound', USP # 6,729,337, for an "ultrasound array" that supposedly stimulated your brain waves to simulate sensory experiences causing its users to experience smells, tastes and even touch without external stimuli.

 _"_ _The secret Pentagon psychotronics technology known as Silent Sound Spread Spectrum has been fully operational since the early 1990s. The physical, emotional, and psychological effects of this technology were so severe that 200,000 Iraqi troops surrendered en masse without firing even a single shot against US led coalition forces._ _Why would eight year veterans of Middle Eastern warfare behave this way? Simple. They_ _were subjected to a technology that was so extreme and incomprehensible that they were suddenly reduced to the level of compliant children and felt grateful to still be alive in the wake of their mind-wrenching experience."_

He spoke of large frequency array transmitters around the world called HAARP among other, of GWEN towers, microwave cell phone towers that could all interfere with the brainwaves of a human, control the weather and manipulate humans from a distance.

The European Parliament, _A4-0005/1999_ Paragraph 27, called for a worldwide ban on weapons that might enable "any form" of the "manipulation of human beings."

* * *

Finally Eliza breaks the silence.

 _"_ _Jet is dead Madison. He is gone forever."_

Madison bites her lip and stares straight ahead, past Eliza, lost momentarily in her own world. Her eyes darken and her jaw tightens.

" _He didn't have to be there to torture us. He didn't have to touch us. He just...he..."_

* * *

There are three known technologies that can act remotely. The first...An Implantable electronic chip. Researchers at the University of Washington had been working on an implantable electronic chip that might help establish new nerve connections in the part of the brain that controlled movement or even altered emotion and thought.. Their study, _Tiny Electronic Chip, Interacting with the Brain, Modifies Pathways for Controlling Movement,_ published in the November 2, 2006, edition of Nature, showed such a device could induce brain changes in monkeys lasting more than a week.

On March 18, 2008, the Central Intelligence Agency responded in writing to a Larson Media Freedom of Information Act request. The document disclosed that the CIA's use of biomedical intellectual property developed at the Alfred Mann Foundation, Second Sight LLC, Advanced Bionics, and under Naval Space Warfare contract #N6600106C8005, was "currently and properly classified pursuant to an executive order in the interest of national security," and applied to the CIA Director's "statutory obligation to protect from disclosure, intelligence sources and methods." The technology, developed under the DARPA programs of Tony Tether, Col. Geoffrey Ling and N.I.H programs of William Heetderks, had been protected as a Defense "Special Access Program1", which was the official terminology for a "black project." The research had resulted in implantable devices that were millimeter and sub-millimeter in size, could be surreptitiously implanted and had been fabricated in a manner that the devices could not be detected or localized by clinical medical or radiology techniques, and provided a shocking amount of surveillance capability regarding a subject's activities, which might include visual and auditory biofeedback data.

Additionally, the devices were capable of delivering testosterone or any other biological agent."

Cisco assured me that Jane had no implantable devices on her a few days after arriving here. They had a machine specifically to detect any foreign body even designed to be undetectable and nanoparticle in size. He had examined her phosphorous ink tattoo carefully as well while she had been catatonic and determined there was nothing unusually suspicious about it.

That information had given me the most reassurance of all.

* * *

 _"_ _I, she, we, no...no...no...I can't talk about it. I d-don't remember..."_

Madison stumbles over her words and starts to squirm uncomfortably like she might be in pain. And she puts her head in her hands and squeezes her head. It's impossible to tell if her internal battle is against the alters or against the programming.

I to watch, powerless, feeling a river of fear and hating that I can do absolutely nothing.

Eliza remains motionless.

* * *

Secondly is 'Mind reading technologies'. A team of world-leading neuroscientists have developed a powerful technique that allowed them to look deep inside a person's brain, and to read their intentions before they act. The research broke controversial new ground in scientists' ability to probe people's minds and eavesdrop on their thoughts, ethically to be condemned in its technology and applications. At the Max Planck Institute for Human Cognitive and Brain Sciences in Germany in 2007, John Dylan Haynes, who led the study with colleagues at University College London and Oxford University, said, "Using the scanner, we could look around the brain for this information and read out something that from the outside, there is no way you possibly could tell is in there. It is like shining a torch around, looking for writing on a wall."

In 2011, neuroscientists at the University of California Berkeley put electrodes inside the skulls of brain surgery patients to monitor information from their temporal lobe, which was involved in the processing of speech and images. As the patient listened to someone speaking, a computer program analyzed how the brain processed and reproduced the words they had heard.

The scientists believed the technique could also be used to read and report what they were thinking of saying next.

In the journal _Plos Biology_ , they wrote that it took attempts at mind reading to "a whole new level."

Harvard's Buckner won the Alzheimer's award for reading our minds in 2011. Researchers had shown a capability to read a subject's mind by remotely measuring their brain activity. This technique could even extract information from individuals, who were unaware of themselves.

Those mind reading technologies use EEC with decoding of neurological signals remotely with or without an implant through satellite or through TV Mobile transmission towers.

* * *

Maddy stays in a ball struggling to speak. Holding herself. Her lips held tightly together and beads of sweat trickling down the sides of her face.

 _"_ _He cannot touch you anymore. You are in control now."_ Eliza's voice seems to break the otherwise impenetrable silence around us all.

* * *

And finally, development of many proposed weapons, including infrasound or electromagnetic energy, lasers, microwave or radio-frequency radiation, or visible light pulsed at brain-wave frequency, has been undertaken by NATO, the United States, and probably other nations as well. They would provide a continuum of effects ranging from mild to lethal, with varying degrees of controllability.

The weapons produce both psychological and physical effects.  
They can cause temporary or permanent blinding, interference with mental processes, modification of behavior and emotional response, seizures, severe pain, dizziness, nausea and diarrhea, or disruption of internal organ functions in various other ways, as well as the ability to manipulate emotions.

'Voice to Skull Technologies', otherwise called 'Microwave hearing', is known to be an unclassified military capability of creating voices in the head.  
In 1972, France was using ultrasonic generators which operated at 7Hz on it's civilian population.  
By 1973, the Squawk Box was used by the British Army in Northern Ireland. It was a directional weapon that that could target specific individuals by producing audible sound at 16 kHz, which turned into infrasound at 2 Hz when it coupled with the ears.  
Artificial microwave voice-to-skull transmission was successfully demonstrated by researcher Dr. Joseph Sharp in 1973, announced at a seminar at the University of Utah in 1974, and in the journal " _American Psychologist_ " in the March 1975 issue, the article was titled " _Microwaves and Behavior_ " by Dr. Don Justesen.  
In the early 1990's Russia had developed a 10 Hz VLF modulator capable of targeting individuals over hundreds of meters, causing pain, nausea, and vomiting. It was adjustable to lethal levels. The Nazis are said to also have developed a sonic cannon capable of shooting down allied bombers.

Regarding Ultrasonic weapons, a 1997 article called ' _Non-lethal weapons for military operations other than war'_ , stated, 'Aimed at the head, the resonating skull bones have caused people to hear voices.'  
In 2002, the US Air Force Research Laboratory patented precisely such a device: _"a nonlethal weapon which includes a neuro-electromagnetic device, which broadcast sound into the skull of persons or animals by way of pulse-modulated microwave radiation; and a silent sound device, which can transmit ultrasound, above human hearing, into the skull of mammals."_

Nonlethal weapons are another outcome of CIA behavior control research. The term non-lethal is entirely misleading. There have been hundreds of reports from victims, who call themselves targeted individuals, who have been remotely subjected to various kinds of harassment and torture, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for years on end.

Serious questions have arisen about the legality of these expensive and highly classified development programs.

Many have taken to calling these energy directed weapons 'Sonic Weapons' as they span the infrasonic, ultrasonic and audible ranges. Most Infrasonic generators function between 1Hz-30kHz and can cause negative emotions such as fear, anxiety, depression, as well as biological symptoms like nausea, vomiting, organ damage, burns or even death, depending on the frequency and power level. Highly directional devices which can transmit painful audible sounds into an individuals ear at great distances and infrasonic generators, which are inaudible to the human ear, can shoot acoustic projectiles hundreds of meters causing a blunt impact on the body.  
Infrasound is said to be superior to ultrasound as the retains it's frequency when it couples with the human body. Infrasound occurs within the ELF range of up to about 20Hz which is lower than the limit of human hearing. Within this range, if the power level increases, more damage can occur. Infrasound travels great distances and can travel easily through buildings and vehicles. From about 100-140 decibels infrasound causes a variety of biological symptoms depending on the frequency and power level. Effects can include fatigue, pressure to the ears, visual blurring, drowsiness, imbalance, disorientation, intestinal pain, nausea, liquify the bowels, resonate the internal organs, vomiting, pressure in the chest, choking, respiratory complications and death.  
Since as far back as 1997, the US DOD has had an interest in creating generators in the infrasonic and ultrasonic ranges of 7 Hz and 20-35 kHz. Such a device could also target the brain. These changes in brain frequencies cause changes to brain chemistry, which then influences thoughts and emotions. Loss of concentration, disgust, apathy, sadness, depression, fear, anxiety, and panic attacks are also noted.

In his December 1980 article, John Alexander wrote 'These transmissions can be used to induce depression and irritability in a target population'.

In a 2001 issue of 'Science and Global Security', it stated that infrasound can even produce localized earthquakes.

Cisco when showing me around the facility had shown me the measures they had taken to protect individuals inside the building from such personal attacks. The entire building was earthed with copper rods, and used either faraday caged lining in the ceilings and walls or earthed metal plates as well as EMF blocking curtains. Everything was monitored by RF signal detectors and if you wanted to use a cellphone you had to step outside. At the time he had showed me I was far too concerned about the condition of Jane to pay any attention or understand how it might be relevant to us.

Right now I felt relief that Jane was protected from whatever might be out there still attempting to target her.

* * *

Madison looks up at Eliza her eyes misty and her jaw clenched.

And I can't help but stand up out of my seat to get a better view.

And when she speaks again it is a more controlled tone and it comes out faster than she usually speaks, a bit garbled and croaky, like the fear drove her, like she might have to say everything before she runs out of time, or there is too much to say and not enough time, or before she is stopped, or punished.

 _"_ _There was a noise, like chains. It woke her up. And it was like being back there..."_

I am confident everyone in the room is holding their breath waiting for her next words. Hope. Anxiety. Concern. Love.

 _"_ _It was that noise. And she thought he was coming back again. He always flashed the red and yellow lights over and over and he made those noises when he came for her, so we all would know. And so sh-she r-ran..."_

No one moves. No one speaks.

 _"_ _Amy..."_ She whispers, _"Amy ran. He would punish her if she ran and if she didn't run. So she ran and she hid. There was places to hide here. She was scared like she used to be."_

"How did you get Maddison to start talking?"

"When she stopped trying to hide from us, which took about 30 minutes, we brought her here and she just started talking by herself." Cisco shrugs like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Did she fight you?"

He grunts, it might have been a deep chuckle too "Madison tried to run and then changed tactic to protect Amy. Amy was the one trying to hide. I think it was Katie or Jane that followed Eliza into the room and just sat down without prompting."

"Oh?"

 _"_ _Jane always tried to stop him, to stop her getting hurt. Protect her. Us. But he always made Jane go away with the s-shocks. He stopped her coming out when he didn't want her. Then he had Amy to himself, and...unless...and..."_

But Maddy doesn't finish her sentence and instead moves on hurriedly to the next part.

 _"_ _He would trick her, he would be really really nice to her. Promise her toys and food. He made her tell him stuff about us. And then he used it against her, against us...and...he sometimes even punished her after she told him...when she did."_

Madison's hand moves to the side of the chair and I notice Bass the bear is tucked in between her leg and the chair cushion. Sometimes Bass ended up staying in the session room for Amy's return. Without looking down, she strokes it's furry face in one long stroke with the back of her index finger.

" _She would always cry out that it wasn't real, it was a dream, it wasn't happening."_

"That is when a split often happens. When the victim says, 'This isn't happening to me, its happening to some one else', that is when a split in the personality can occur. Every alter creates shadow alters of itself to handle the anger, fear, guilt, betrayal."

" _When she didn't know something he punished her, and then later he made her forget stuff, like that he had hurt her. He made her forget about the rest of us, but he didn't let her forget that she had been hurt or the things he showed to her. Then he...but - but she couldn't remember...s-sometimes she didn't know what he wanted...he still hurt h-her..."_

She whimpers again and her hand grips the bear tightly, angrily, strangling it.

Her pain stabs right through my heart.

 _"_ _...she didn't even know anything!"_

The pause within the silent hysteria going on inside the faces on the screen is broken by Cisco's voice again,

"Often a child will be set up repeatedly by an adult who is a kind to gain its trust. After the child trusts the adult the child will be forced to require help and that adult will back away, mocking them, and begin abusing them. This sets in place the programming that adults will always betray a child and other adults."

I couldn't begin to explain how sick the image of someone doing that to anyone, ever, made me to my stomach. But the feelings inside me had begun to merge together and I could not name a single one.

 _"_ _I tried to stop him and he realized he could make me come out to protect Amy if Jane couldn't...so...he-he just abused Amy over and over and...j-just to-to make me c-come out."_

Her hands move to cross her chest defensively and I press my hands against the other side of the one way glass. I want to be closer. I want to comfort her...nothing else.

 _"_ _He had codes for me but he didn't want to use it ca-cause he was an a-asshole."_ She has her usual deep growl in her voice.

 _"_ _Yes he was."_ Eliza agrees. It's not an attempt to gain more trust but rather affirm to Madison that he was in fact the perpetrator and whatever had happened was in no way her fault.

Suddenly Madison rubs the scars on her hands just like Jane always does, the exact same way. An indication that, possibly, for a moment at least, Jane might be present here. It could be on a sub-conscious level or a sort of communication between the two.

 _"_ _Do you know your codes Madison?"_

She shakes her head no.

Cisco had talked about the codes before.

Access Codes are specialized codes often coded into short messages or numerical codes and are used at the beginning of a session to allow authorized entry into the system without setting off booby traps and internal protectors. This is to prevent unauthorized access or using of the person by others.

Command Codes are irreversible commands, put in at the limbic level of conditioning. The first code always put in is the "halt " command, which stops the person in their tracks. This will stop the subject from assassinating their trainer. There is sometimes a system destruct code which will always look like a suicide, shatter codes, erasure codes, and anti-suicide codes.

And Function Codes which are the job codes or work codes within the system to carry out specific objectives or jobs.

 _"_ _I don't know...I don't remember them. I don't remember what he wanted from me."_ She mumbles under her breath

Eliza smiles softly at Madison and it's all the prompting needed for her to continue.

 _"_ _Dr Isles...she didn't hurt Amy like he did."_

 _"_ _Dr Isles?"_ Eliza repeats slowly.

 _"_ _Yeah, Dr. Isles was safe...she helped her and didn't make her do anything or tell her anything. So...so Amy didn't need me..."_

My heart misses several beats. I left and Amy was afraid. Was it my fault. Guilt pangs like needles puncture into my chest.

Cisco presses the button on the microphone, _"_ Maura has arrived."

Eliza gratefully interrupts my self-destructive thoughts, _"Amy needed you today."_

Madison nods.

 _"_ _And you were there for her weren't you."_

She nods again, her face is a little brighter, a little more confidant, a little bit braver. It almost appears her chest might have expanded in pride. Then she practically crumbles again.

 _"_ _He said he could do what he wanted with us cause he owned us, he made us and he could make us all go away if he wanted. He made others too. He made more. He did it by...he-he...starved and-and...bright lights...flashing and noises, so loud that she had to cover her ears. Then no sound. He wouldn't let her sleep. It was s-so c-cold sometimes. So dark. So-so many things...to her, to-to us..."_

She shudders within herself at the memories.

* * *

 _Refined through years of practice, sensory disorientation relies on a mix of sensory overload and sensory deprivation. Extremes of manipulation of time, loud music, strobe lights, odd sounds, hooding, ear muffs, heat and cold, light and dark, isolation then intense interrogation, noise and silence, a total assault on all senses and sensibilities, auditory, visual, tactile, temporal, temperature, and survival. Sleep deprivation is common and dreams are manipulated. And most importantly is creative combinations of all these methods which otherwise might seem, individually, banal if not benign, but in combination is a systematic attack on all human stimuli._

 _During the 1950s, two eminent neurologists at Cornell Medical Center working for the CIA found that the KGB's most devastating torture technique involved, not crude physical beatings, but simply forcing the victim to stand for days at a time, while the legs swelled, the skin erupted in suppurating lesions, the kidneys shut down, hallucinations began._

 _The fusion of these two techniques, sensory disorientation and self-inflicted pain, creates a synergy of physical and psychological trauma whose sum is a hammer-blow to the existential platforms of personal identity._

* * *

I think maybe my blood changed consistency. My heart seemed to have a harder time pumping it through my body and it sounded like my head was in a ringing bell. It made every limb heavy and every vein hurt.

 _"_ _And the others...the ones that he made do stuff. He didn't care they weren't complete people. He just wanted them to...they...no...they had to...I can't...I can't..."_

Fear grips her and she shuts down again. Closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Others?" I ask no-one in particular, my tongue so dry thats all I manage to get out.

Amy, Madison and Katie and more, others. How can someone do that. How could a human be so inhumane, so cruel.

Cisco clears his throat and gave me almost the exact wording he gave at a conference I had attended a few years back. I still found it hard to digest. That this had been intentional. "The purpose of the mind-control is to build a system within the mind that is a human robot. It would do no good to torture the slave and get thousands of pieces or fragments of the mind if these were not structured. After all the torture, the shadow alters holding memories and all the programs attached are simply one big mess. The programmers need some clean way to clean up the mess they have created of the persons mind. Trainers will place within the subject's systems, a special way to organize the fragments that are related to the job they were trained to do. Some fragments lend themselves to be molded into full personalities, and some lend themselves into being molded into single-purpose fragments, and some must be discarded. A System can have about half a dozen alters which frequently take the body and sometimes dozens of alters which only occasionally take the body."

He takes a pause to look at the monitor, but Maddy is still sitting quietly trying to regain control of herself by clenching and unclenching her hands repeatedly like a mantra.

"In terms of programming, each dissociated fragment of the mind may be molded into something. When building a system of alters, the front world is set up to deceive anyone from discovering the true structure of the system. The programmers can link and unlink, and move alters around. The original systems structures were designed by engineers and the protocol can now be followed by almost any trainer. They are very complex. Very few Multiples have ever really gotten to see the deeper parts of their own Systems. The programmers are also skilled at building in alters who can serve as balancing points. Unless the system of alters has balancing point alters who are calm, cheerful, and emotionally stable, a system could easily self-destruct with all the shatteredness, pain and craziness that has been _intentionally_ built into the system."

"Katie" The name slips through my lips.

Katie was the balancing point within this system. She was clam and stable and cheerful.

"How deep is her system?"

I didn't really want the answer if it was going to be bad. But at the same time I couldn't delude myself anymore that there was going to be some miraculous easy fix. They had intentionally fragmented her mind and re-structured the fragments in a way that suited their agenda...there was no easy fix.

"I think she is extraordinarily lucky they only held her as long as they did and never had her from a child. I image if they had that she would have been a very valuable asset to them because of her self-motivation and sheer determination. Her strength is one of the reasons she survived this with any sanity at all. From what I can see it appears like there are only a few layers of alters within possibly just one system or perhaps two. The front system seems to have failed. Maybe it was you getting shot. I believe he tried to make more systems but something went wrong. I suspect from the times I sat with him that he ran out of time to go deep enough."

" _They were split off Amy but they weren't like us though. They didn't have names, didn't talk. They just obeyed him."_ Madison curls up again and stares at the floor.

"New splits have the characteristics and memories of what it split from. However, they are separated from each other by dissociation, and they will be given their own script and own separate identity by the programmer. Amnesia walls and no-talk can go in all directions where the programmer requires it."

 _"_ _I didn't care what he did to me. I don't think I really felt it mostly. But I...I - Jane...we...I...she..._ "

Eliza frowns slightly. I had also been confused at the perspective changes from singular to plural but now the mixture of narrative pronouns disturbed me and it seemed Eliza was unsure as well. Cisco didn't seem that bothered by it.

".. _.J-Jane... he-he made Jane kill p-people..."_

* * *

 _...TO BE CONTINUED..._


	18. Chapter 18

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

THIS CHAPTER MOST LIKELY CONTAINS MIND CONTROL TRIGGERS. IF YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE BEEN MINDCONTROLLED THEN PLEASE PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER.

THIS CHAPTER IS ALSO EXTREMELY DESCRIPTIVE AND DISTURBING. THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. THIS IS MORE DESCRIPTIVE THAN ANYTHING I HAVE WRITTEN SO FAR AND POSSIBLY ANYTHING YOU WILL READ ANYWHERE. I HARD A HECK OF A HARD TIME WRITING ABOUT EXPERIENCES THAT I KNOW PEOPLE HAVE PERSONALLY BEEN THROUGH.

FINALLY...I do not own the Rizzoli and Isles characters...ALL OTHER INFORMATION ,AS FAR AS I KNOW, IS FACTUAL AND TRUE AND CAN BEEN RESEARCHED.

* * *

CHAPTER 18

"... _J-Jane... he-he made Jane kill p-people..."_

* * *

Madison continues, her voice almost becoming weaker by the minute, _"He-he made Jane kill people...no...not people...like - kinda - fake people...no...images. Yeah."_

Eliza nods again. I am not sure she follows either but Madison, when talking long enough, eventually makes sense in a roundabout way.

" _I don't know...how to d-describe it."_

Eliza leans forward and puts her hand reassuringly on Madison's arm and she doesn't pull away, _"You are doing just fine, Maddy."_

"Programmers often use virtual reality or images. Sometimes two opposing images one in the left eye and one in the right. Sometimes they use flashing lights of specific colors to enhance it. Often in conjunction with LSD or other hypnotic drug."

 _"He made her see it at first. Just watch. But she couldn't stop it. Stop seeing it. Nice people being killed. Men, woman, kids, dogs, cats. She screamed 'Please stop they are innocent'. He gave us drugs too, to make it easier for her to believe it was real. She would scream for it to stop. She saw it over and over even when her eyes were closed. Everywhere. All the time. Death and blood. I think it was 'cause of the flashin' lights...or-or the drugs"_

"Some chemicals used are shown to cause cleavages in spatial perceptions, blocking the interaction of various amino acids that relate to higher-consciousness. Some increase dopamine in the brain thereby producing a listless, euphoric state of lower reactive mind.

This is done to basically create confusion, rendering a person unable to differentiate between the real and illusionary."

 _"Then pain. Intense pain. Electricity I suppose. Like shocks. We all felt it physically. We all tasted the blood when she bit the inside of her mouth."_ Madison mumbles weakly.

The electroshock I knew about. Jet had told me how she had squirmed under the current like a fish in water and then he had laughed like it was a humorous joke.

Electro shock or stun-guns are used to control a slave, to erase memory, to create the dissociation from trauma during the programming, and later it is used to remove memories after the slave has carried out a mission, or to instill fear and obedience in a reluctant slave.

Because of the use of electro-shock, if memories do start surfacing later on they surface in pieces. Sometimes a complete memory will be held by thousands of parts who the mind must bring together to recover the full memory. Trauma memories are stored in the sensory motor processes, rather than just in the normal memory sites of the brain. The shock destroys and scrambles the memory which is still stored in the short term memory section of the brain. The shock must happen within 24 hours, to insure that the short term memory doesn't get into long term memory as a coherent memory.

I suspect Hofstede learned some of this from Jet already as he did not look at all surprised.

 _"He used the pain to make a program to sort-of override Jane. He pushed her down. Made her kinda disappear with the shocks. And then he-he put the gun in her hand and made her...he made her kill them...I think it was an alter but she saw it all...everyone in the virtual reality."_

"Alters within a Monarch system are not allowed to stray from the path assigned to them"

 _"And Jane...it wasn't her but it felt like her...she had to watch and couldn't do anything. She fought what she saw with everything she had, but Jet told her it was real over and over. She yelled that she wasn't a murderer.. She tried to hide from it, from him, but he used codes to make her come out over an over"_

"Invasion of the mind is not enough. A convincingly real dream setting is not enough. The mind must accept the reason for the setting. It is not sufficient only to introduce new thoughts, notions, and impulses which enable deep control. The receiver must eventually be willing to accept them and follow them at the conscious level. Individuals being influenced by mind control themselves perform the psychological choices which hide the external control."

 _"He did it over and over. But she got it, she figured it out somehow, that it wasn't real. And she counted it. Every time she went through it...counting it helped her know to it wasn't real."_

Madison shifts in the chair, wrapping her legs and body tighter in the safe ball she had been in.

 _"Until one time she woke up from a hallucination or a nightmare still strapped to the table screaming the number. Thirty-five she screamed. Thirty-five. Thirty-five._ Thirty-five. T-thirty-f-five"

Familiar anger courses my veins but dissipates as I turn to the monitor and see the brokenness and suffering in her face staring sadly at Eliza. I watch as a tear runs down her now extremely pale face.

 _"The number...that's how he knew it wasn't working. That's how he knew she somehow knew it wasn't real. So he...he stopped for a bit. Starved her. Locked her in a tiny dark room. Played loud sounds. I don't know how long she was in there. Then he dragged her out and gave her more drugs."_

I experience a globus sensation. I try to swallow it but it stays trapped in my throat.

" _So you know what he did next, what he had to do to break her...to control her...to make her believe him."_

It isn't a question, it is a horror.

 _"_ _He used_ _the people Amy told him Jane thought about. Cared about."_

Madison suddenly bolts upright and looks at Eliza defensively, her mouth open in horror, as if she had just been slapped.

 _"Don't say that...she didn't know"_ she growls, a rebuke. A self-rebuke. And Madison's shoulders slumped and she hangs her head in dismay.

Eliza turns to looks towards the observation window, she can't see through it, she can't see us. She appears somewhat concerned.

The voice had sounded like Katie but it could have been Jane.

Then a spark of understanding in Eliza's face turns her back to Madison, she has put a piece or two in place, _"It is ok, I understand, It wasn't Amy's fault. It wasn't your fault, or Katie's or Jane's. Jet was the bad guy and none of you should have had to go through what you did. No-one here did or is doing anything wrong and no-one is in trouble. Ok?"_

Maddison lets out a heavy sigh and looks up again calmer.

 _"Ok."_ She breathes her voice returning to her own.

Cisco continues, "Perpetration will horrify the survivor when they remember this. Supporting the survivor, remaining non judgmental, and encouraging acceptance of these parts is important. Pointing out that at the time, they saw no other options available will help. Realizing that perpetrator alters saved their life, and that they had no other way to act will need to be pointed out. Sometimes the survivor may feel hostile towards, or reviled by perpetrator alters, but they are the expression of the abuse and limited choices they were allowed. Grieving being a perpetrator will take time and caring support by others."

 _"You have done what you had to do. You all did. What each of you have done has saved their lives, and yours."_

Madison's face shows relief at Eliza's words. Her hands relax along with her body. And she relaxes just a little bit.

"Guilt is always one of the greatest hurdles for a victim who was forced to perform or act against their will, or betray someone else. They often become or felt they became a perpetrator themselves in the process and need a lot of help to realize that it wan't their fault, wasn't their choice. They need to know they were a victim regardless of what they did or didn't do."

 _"He put her family and friends in it. And she saw her friends bein' hurt. She had been thinking of her family and friends and it maybe helped her, it stopped her breaking before. She knew deep down, that whatever she did, that her family would be there for her...no matter what. But when they got hurt..."_

 _"I didn't know what was real."_

The voice is different again but the expression remains the same.

 _"He made Jane kill them and h-her body shook so hard the first time she watched them die that the gear almost fell off. The stuff he had us was wearing. I don't know if she stopped shaking that whole day."_

 _Breathe_

"The torturer strives through insult and disqualification, by means of threats to break all the victim's possible existential platforms. Through this asymmetry, the torturer eventually achieves complete power and reduces the victims to a condition of total or near total defenselessness."

 _Just Breathe_

When you take a breath you tighten you diaphragm and relax the muscles in the walls of your chest. You do so often and continuously that you simply forget you are doing it until you can't do it anymore. And when you can't breathe, it becomes symbolic of life.

Eliza gently pushes a box of tissues across the low table between them and Madison looks at them but doesn't move to take one. She just lets the tears run freely falling onto her pants leaving dark splotches on the material.

 _"She couldn't stop it. She couldn't run. She couldn't close her eyes. She couldn't...c-couldn't drop the gun...she tried."_

Madison isn't hiding her anger all anymore now. She looks a lot more like her usual facial expression. But she won't make eye contact with Eliza, for whatever reason.

The silence in the viewing room is suddenly palatable. I try to take a breath in but I can't.

 _Breathe_

This usually unconscious act consumes roughly three percent of your metabolic energy at rest and that one breath will keep you alive for only the next few minutes.

That single breath is the equivalent volume of pulling a grapefruit into your lungs. Trillions of air molecules are then trapped inside your chest like fish in a net. Only a few of them, the oxygens, are what you are after, what you need and the average adult needs two pounds of them everyday.

 _"W-we watched everyone die. It nearly broke her, broke us...but we couldn't help her...she couldn't hear us anymore..."_

"As the Programmers structure the System, they build in No-talk walls every so often where all communication and/or visibility between alters is walled off. These No-talk walls are specifically built structures and not the result of normal amnesia."

 _"She cried out. She screamed for help. I tried to comfort her. Remind her of the things that mattered to her."_ It was Katie this time, I would know that voice anywhere.

 _Breathe in or out it doesn't matter which._

 _"I watched them all die..."_

Again that slightly different voice. I wouldn't guess but I was sure it was Jane.

 _"Her family, friends."_ Maddison concludes sadly as she fiddles with the cuff of her sleeve like a nervous teenager might. I sometimes forget that's what she is, a nervous teenager. But full of fear that she has had to hide.

 _"When she couldn't take anymore she would disappear inside, like, I guess behind the rest of us. I don't think Jet meant for that to happen. So then I would be there alone but it didn't affect me the same."_

A look of concern flashes across her face.

 _"I mean, they weren't_ my _family."_ She whispers defensively, like it might be a crime to not be affected.

 _"Amy and Katie had different families and I got no family so he had to keep trying to break Jane that way. He made more personalities he could control. Then he'd program it or split it again and then went back to Jane. I think it never worked fully."_

For a moment I stop wonder exactly what I am feeling. I try to isolate just one single emotion and remember the exact name for it. But it's like trying to catch one ladybug in a jar full of them.

It was like a symphony of instruments all playing different notes at the same time and you think for a millisecond you can hear just the flute but then it's gone in the chaos again.

The feelings also seemed to merge into each other like an orchestra. There were no words for most of them and far too many words for the rest. It was loud. And the combined heat emanating from my skin seemed to burn every organ from the outside in. It burned to breathe, it burned to speak, it burned to see and to think.

If the anger or guilt was in there I couldn't feel it amongst everything else.

This process was somehow supposed to help her heal. Saying what happened and how she felt. Being heard, and knowing it wasn't her fault. It was all part of the healing process.

I forced myself to breathe.

 _"She started counting a new number. How many times she watched as she murdered the people she cared about. How many times she pulled the trigger herself. Forty-three times. The first few times was the hardest because she didn't know for sure if it was real or not. And Jane just disappeared a little bit more each time. She didn't become numb to it...not really. I guess she disassociated more...as a protection."_

I felt numb. I felt nothing anymore. It was too much that it was nothing.

Then Amy spoke in her tiny afraid voice, _"I didn't like it there I we went far away. We had a teddy bear picnic. The bad man wasn't there. It was safe"_

* * *

The human mind has been found to be like an immense symphony orchestra, each part doing what it does best under the guidance of a director part similar to the conductor of an orchestra. A non-multiple's brain delegates responsibility to parts of his brain yet retains control over the process. His mind will shift from one ego state to another, and still retain its identity. In contrast, the multiple's brain also delegates responsibility and shifts from one ego state to another, BUT doesn't retain a cohesive selfhood or self-identity. The mental mechanisms are similar, but the experience is vastly different. Rather than an orchestra playing together, the multiple's brain is full of competing isolated parts, like instruments, that are usually playing in isolation. Out of the chaos of all these independent amnesic parts, the programmer through hypnosis and or fear then becomes the conductor to help bring order out of chaos. If the multiple, or victim, is to regain a chance to orchestrate their own life again, they must re-establish communication between the different parts of what should have been their own orchestra, and get internal people to harmonize their music of life.

* * *

Madison takes over again, _"In the end she couldn't do anything 'cept watch it all happening to her. And sometimes when we were alone, when he left, s-she just hugged herself curled up on the floor like the pain was too much to bear."_

Her words seemed to wash over me and not stick. Like I was suddenly made of Teflon. I knew those words would come back and haunt me at night, in my dreams. But right now I could only hear them, I couldn't feel them anymore. My mind tried to pretend it had happened to someone that wasn't Jane, not Jane. I couldn't put Jane and that description together in my mind. I didn't want too. It was inconceivable. Incomprehensible.

 _"Sometimes I wasn't even sure she was there anymore. But he could still bring her out. Sort of. She wasn't herself tho. I think we all knew his plan was to kill her family and we couldn't do anything to stop him. We couldn't help her fight him."_

Psychotherapist Otto Doerr-Zegers found that victims suffer ' _a mistrust bordering on paranoia, and a loss of interest that greatly surpasses anything observed in anxiety disorders_.' The subject ' _does not only react to torture with a tiredness of days, weeks, or months, but remains a tired human being, relatively uninterested and unable to concentrate._ '

 _"And then Jet made Jane forget it all. Everything. He tried to make us all forget until he was ready. Jet said we had to be undetectable. I think he had total control by the end. He made us forget different stuff. To forget him. The torture. The places he took us. He tried to anyway. Amy remembered little bits tho. I started to remember things too, like in dreams sometimes. Or in the lights. I didn't know if Jane remembered anything. She was so damaged I think that she had to stay away, maybe."_

* * *

With every setback or negative experience a human being encounters, we seem to tell ourselves that we must overcome it. And that we are strong if we are able to, able to move on, to survive even if it is only just. We are told and tell ourselves that we must _be_ strong, we _must_ cope. And we will be better and stronger for it.

Some take a bit longer to move past a certain point and others seem to have rehearsed lines in their mind to help them pass it faster. But are we deluding ourselves that we are really thriving when we are barely surviving. That we actually have a choice to move on at all. And if we aren't _strong_ enough what really happens...you have a breakdown, a meltdown, a moment, or the men in white coats come to get you.

So are we really over-coming anything, are we really becoming emotionally stronger. Or are we just getting that much closer to our breaking point without breaking. Are we stretching the breaking point that much further. Everyone has a different breaking point, does the breaking point determine a persons strength?

Maybe the true definition of strength is 'that you somehow didn't break _this time'_.

Maybe instead of saying 'what doesn't break you will only make you stronger', we should be saying, 'you managed to get to the other side of this without breaking, good job.'

The word empathy starts to truly mean something when we have experienced numerous things. Hopefully as we survive without breaking we become more patient, much wiser, more forgiving and understanding. Hopefully we become better people as life tries to stomp all over our hearts and minds. Hopefully we choose to be kind to others instead of lashing out and seeking revenge.

Maybe strength is not letting the small things get you down, or maybe it is simply becoming desensitized to the many curve-balls life throws at us.

Strength is possibly just becoming more malleable, more understanding, and kinder. Maybe strength is the good character traits we build and develop within ourselves as we refuse to allow negativity to gain control of us. Hopefully when strength is momentarily required in order to not fall apart where we stand we will realize that life is short and it isn't fair but there will always be good things in it if we can survive. Maybe that is thriving.

* * *

And then Jane spoke, softly, broken and raspy, slowly, _"I didn't remember any of it. Until the gun was in my hand again. And-I-I...squeezed the trigger. I couldn't stop it. Again. I-I remembered it all when I saw Maura lying on the ground. I remembered I had killed them, killed her. And It hurt to much to remember anymore. I didn't know...I just...I felt like...physically burning...couldn't move...I hurt so-so much...so I...I just...I stopped."_

She looks down and almost freezes as the memories wash over her afresh.

* * *

...to be continued...


	19. Chapter 19

WELCOME BACK TO WHAT I HOPE IS A SAFE CHAPTER. I RECAP ENOUGH HERE SO IF YOU SKIPPED THE LAST TWO CHAPTERS YOU WILL BE JUST FINE.

AS ALWAYS THERE STILL MAYBE TRIGGERS SO PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

I DO NOT OWN THE RIZZOLI AND ISLES CHARACTERS.

Bam...posting chapter 17 worked...talk about motivation...got all three chapters up within 2 hours. Even did serious rearranging on chapter 18 as well.

As always...comments are loved and appreciated.

* * *

CHAPTER 19

"Let me go in?" I begged softly feeling completely numb except for a lump in my throat.

"Not yet." Cisco demands knowing full well he couldn't prevent me from doing so if I wanted.

I trusted him so I waited, internally impatiently, for the right time.

I had barely been able to watch Maddison account every detail she recalled.

At times I couldn't breathe. Other times I wanted to throw up.

Madison told us everything she remembered and their was a strong element of grief in the revelations. It was part of the second stage of healing. 'Containment and processing of memories and feelings' the experts had called it. Memories of the trauma and the torture passing between them all.

Jet had split Jane's mind through torture and deprivation. He had then abused the alters he created to gain information about Jane. He had created some alters to do his bidding like robots. And then he had broken Jane's psyche by tricking her, using virtual reality, into believing she had hurt her family, killed them. And he had then caused them to forget certain things that had happened. But nothing stays hidden forever. Memories had not stayed forgotten.

Memories that hopefully once fully revealed openly would be unable to haunt them anymore.

Some stories of events and memories were imaginary, of a place Amy created to protect them herself, to stop her mind fragmenting again and again. Others were real and disturbing.

Most, if not all of it, was painful to hear.

For Madison it had been painful to reveal.

Pain and anger went hand in hand as did tears and fear. Every emotion coursed through her eyes like blood through veins, flickers in her eyes of torment and agony. We saw it in her face, in their body language. Loops of every emotion expressed in every conceivable way.

We didn't need any monitor to see what she went through within herself. What happened in those three months they were held by a deranged CIA psychopath. Madison wasn't hiding anything. The emotion was as raw and as clear as a splatters of paint on a pure white canvas.

I had also watched the faces of those watching and saw pain as well. Cisco who had been through this process countless times still felt the hurt as though he had not heard anything as horrific before even though he had, and worse things.

I saw sympathy, empathy, hearts breaking. I saw pain everywhere I looked and felt it within myself.

* * *

When Jane spoke again her voice was barely a whisper. She was finally emerging without any alters speaking for her. She sounded so broken my heart which I was sure had become numb tightened again.

 _"_ _I killed Maura. I really killed her. It wasn't fake."_

There was a soft sob and a single tear.

No one could directly ease the suffering for her and that fact hurt us all. They all had to re-live it and hopefully this would be the last time the wound was opened raw. One more time... just once more I begged nobody in particular.

This was the second to last phase, integration and rehabilitation.

Then Jane might be free to heal completely. To be free again, freedom within herself, free-will.

She might be whole again.

She might be just Red

The next person that spoke was Eliza. Eliza who for a large part had turned as white as a ghost and was slowly returning to her normal color and tone.

She spoke directly to Jane.

 _"_ _Jane, Maura isn't dead. It was an illusion just like jet did. It wasn't real."_

 _"_ _It was?"_

 _"_ _She isn't dead!"_

 _"_ _She isn't?"_

We might have been getting somewhere but Jane's emotions seemed to stir up the others and they all wanted to speak.

 _"_ _She went away"_ Madison growled softly

 _"_ _I wanna go home."_ Whimpered Amy pulling her usual pout

 _"_ _Where is she?"_ Jane's voice wavered and pitched as confusion and fear coursed her body.

Every time an alter transitioned she would squeeze her eyes shut tightly. Her hands were mostly clenched on her lap but sometimes were rubbed together or fidgeted

For a brief moment. It was hard to keep up and the expressions were not enough to tell the alters apart. The voice was almost enough. Amy was so easily distinguishable...and for the most part Madison's voice was more determined and less emotional than Jane's.

 _"_ _Maura is just next door"_ Eliza informed Jane.

 _"_ _She isn't. She isn't."_ Madison frowned at Eliza, distrusting her completely.

Amy pipes up mild excitement in her otherwise afraid voice, _"Mara can finish the story 'The land of far beyond'. We was halfway through."_

 _"_ _Where is Jet?"_ Jane whispers barely holding her voice together.

 _"He is dead, Jane"_ Eliza responds cautiously evaluating who requires the most urgent response.

 _"We were too many...I made her leave."_ Madison again growls bitterly the distrust obvious in her tone.

 _"_ _Madison, Maura came back this morning."_ Eliza tries.

 _"_ _I wanna go home."_ Amy adds with a whine in her high pitched way.

 _"_ _I killed her"_ Jane whispers

 _"_ _Maura is alive."_ Eliza reaffirms

I am honestly in awe of how Eliza is able to keep up and respond to each line of conversation with who says what and why.

 _"_ _She died."_ Jane whimpers

 _"_ _Maura is not dead, what you saw wasn't what you thought it was."_ Eliza says softly, her patience unwavering.

 _"_ _I-I_ _saw_ _her dead. I shot her. Her blood was...it was all over me...I_ _felt_ _it on me...I never felt it like that before...before that time. The other times it wasn't real, I knew it...there was no blood..I...I couldn't feel it._ _I couldn't feel the cold metal in my hands...it was real._ _"_ Jane is almost yelling, not quite but almost. Then her voice drops away suddenly, _"Did she survive the gunshot wound?"_

 _"_ _She isn't dead"_ Madison and Eliza say together one patiently the other obviously annoyed.

 _"_ _Mara Mara, I wanna go home. Where's Mara?"_ Amy throws in with a squeal adding to the chaos.

 _"_ _Jane, you never hurt Maura at all."_ Eliza says firmly hoping that Jane hears her amongst all the voices of the other alters.

 _"_ _What happens...what if I kill her...again."_ Jane bites her lip

Madison growls her response obviously frustrated that Jane still isn't understanding even though by her own merit she refuses to believe I have returned, "You never killed her. She is alive. She was here and left, you just don't remember."

 _"_ _Hooommmmmeeeeee."_ Cries Amy loudly frustrated she is being ignored by everyone.

"Just leave her _alone._ " A louder voice interjects that I am sure is Katie.

And suddenly they are all silent.

"Some structures such as internal walls or barriers may have been created not only by the programmer, but reinforced by the survivor as well, as a means of internal protection. The survivor may not want to dismantle internal structures too quickly without knowing their purpose and what they contain. Both the survivor and the therapist will need to go slowly. Learning how the structures were put in and which alters are linked to the structure, will be a first step. Long, slow and careful preparation, with lots of system cooperation, will be needed to look at some structures. If a wall is present, taking it down slowly, one brick at a time, or allowing part of it to become semi permeable, may be first steps in healing."

A pause giving space for Eliza to speak.

 _"_ _Jane, you have to trust yourself that you would never hurt the people you care about. You never have and you never will because it's not who_ _you_ _are._ _You_ _protect people. You know that. That characteristic of you will_ _never_ _change."_

Other than the layer of un-emotional super soldier type , the alters were real and separate persons but the common traits that ran through that alter system are also real. One alter system may have a streak of kindness and gentleness that runs through the entire system. No alter is entirely separate from several common pools of intellect and dispositions that are attributable to the entire alter system.

Then Cisco speaks into the mic so Eliza can hear him but his eyes are on me, "I'm sending Maura in."

I release the breathe I had been holding subconsciously. The next breath goes straight to my head and I feel lighter.

It had been almost like watching a family argument between four people with only two bodies present.

Cisco's voice speaking beside me was almost a relief, a reprise from untangling the story, the voices, expressions...the web of chaos. Trying to understand.

"Go in Maura" he encourages softly with his soft smile and a wink.

When she sees me her eyebrows furrow together and the confusion is evident. She looks between Eliza and myself like there might be some mysterious evil at work, another game or a tactic to trick her, deceive her. She studies me up and down slowly. She tenses up like she might be partway between flight or fight.

She doesn't seem to know what to think or do.

The only thought that crosses my mind was how or maybe where Madison and Amy and Katie have suddenly gone. If it was Amy I would have been greeted by a huge grin and my name being said loudly and urgently 'Mara!'.' Katie would have greeted me with, a smile and a shy 'Hello, Dr Isles'. Madison might have said 'You're back' with her arms crossed like she didn't really care but with a little speck of joy in her eyes.

I wondered how they knew which was the moment to step back and leave Jane to just be Jane for a moment. A moment alone for Jane to figure it out, to see reality, to trust, to just breathe, to just be.

For Jane to see me.

Or did Jane, the core, have the most control of them all in the end.

She doesn't speak straightaway. She rubs the scars on the back of her hands slowly.

I am not sure how long I stood there returning Jane's gaze before Eliza takes my elbow and leads me to sit in the chair she had been sitting in.

My pulse was like a steady drum pulsing up and down my body from my stomach to my temples. It kept me from speaking and from being over taken by emotion. It allowed me to wait for her to be ready.

She watches me sit down. She seemed to be unsure if she should lean towards me or away from me. Her breathing was huffs of air out of nostrils which flared as she did so. It was as if she was having to keep her breathing in control.

Her right eyebrow almost on it's own dances around like it might be caught between confusion and surprise.

I watched her and I began to think a new set of thoughts. That this look, this expression, was better than the rest had been. It wasn't sadness, it wasn't betrayal, it wasn't distrust and it was far from expressionless. It might have been labelled simply 'disbelief'. But within her confused expression were readable emotions, amplified emotions like the sounds coming out of an amphitheater.

There was hope. There was uncertainty. There was fear.

There were more but those three seemed to take centre stage.

"Jane" I whisper but it is inaudible

"Jane" I say again louder and softer.

* * *

CHRYSALIS

There was once a woman who brought two butterfly chrysalis into her home that were about to hatch. She wanted to observe the butterflies break free from their chrysalis and eventually take flight.

For days she eagerly watched, waiting for the butterflies to emerge. And after some time she was able to witness one of the butterflies begin creating a small hole in its chrysalis. She watched as this first butterfly fought to emerge. To her it seemed to struggle painfully as it slowly pushed its way through the opening it had created. Once it was fully liberated, the butterfly lay there on the table, exhausted and unable to go any further. However, after a short period of time, the butterfly finally raised itself up and flew out a nearby window, fluttering on its strong and beautiful wings.

* * *

I watch the hope and fear dance backwards and forwards. Hope has both eyebrows softly pushing into each other and only one slightly higher than the other. Hope opens her mouth slightly like she might be able to speak and raises her chest like she can breathe. Hope lets her swallow. Hope keeps her hands still and hope has her eyes studying mine. Hope softens her expression and she looks almost at peace.

Fear on the other hand...fear clenches her hands tightly till her knuckles turn white and her forearms flex with tension in unison. Fear lowers one eyebrow. Fear flares her nostrils and causes her pulse point to twitch. Fear tightens her lips together and her whole body almost seems to quiver. Fear makes her eyes darker and harder and distant.

She doesn't decide straightaway. She can't be sure of the truth any more. I don't blame her. She has been tricked and tormented a hundred times before. I almost expect her to inspect me like a scientist inspects a specimen. To maybe walk around me and poke me like the Mowgli character that was raised by animals might do on meeting another human for the first time.

But she doesn't. She remains in her chair watching and I watch the cycles of emotions cross her face.

I realize the sadness is gone from her completely.

"Jane, it's me, it's Maura."

At least my voice sounds like me.

Her eyes flicker to Eliza for a moment before returning to mine.

I sense her uncertainty. I see it in her eyes. I feel it emanating from her.

"I am alive, honey. I am ok. Truly."

The words try to get caught in my throat. I'm not sure I'm ok exactly. I couldn't define 'ok' anymore.

Her expression seems to stall on hope momentarily. She reaches out her hand towards me shakily and I reach out to her with both of mine and take her hand and hold it. She tentatively holds her hand in mine like a doesn't test or squeeze my hand. She almost seems like she might need to pull away from me. Protect herself. Instead she just looks at her hand between mine for what feels like hours.

And then her eyes lift to meet mine and they look slightly wet and slightly content.

"Maura"

And her hand grips mine and I smile.

* * *

...to be continued...


	20. Chapter 20

This is the second to last chapter. Last one will be up in a few days. I am soooo excited to hear what you guys think of the whole thing. I am so excited I may not be able to sleep. lol.

* * *

CHAPTER 20

* * *

 _The woman watched as this first butterfly fought to emerge. To her it seemed to struggle painfully as it slowly pushed its way through the opening it had created. Once it was fully liberated, the butterfly lay there on the table, exhausted and unable to go any further. However, after a short period of time, the butterfly finally raised itself up and flew out a nearby window, fluttering on its strong and beautiful wings. After observing the challenging process that the first butterfly experienced, the woman felt inspired to help the second butterfly free itself from its chrysalis so it wouldn't have to struggle like the first one did._

Meaning well, to help the second butterfly, the woman decided to use a razor blade to gently slice down the center of the butterfly's chrysalis as it began its journey toward its liberation.

Once freed, the second butterfly lay there on the table just like the first one did. However, after that same short period of time, rather than raising itself up and flying away, the second butterfly quietly died.

Confused about what had occurred, the woman contacted a friend who was a biologist and asked her to explain why the second butterfly had died.

* * *

"One final test, Jane." I softly beg.

She has been through so much and it seemed cruel to even ask.

She takes my hand meekly like a child would, timid and full of uncertainty. It is in her face as well. And she half nods her head, dropping it downwards and keeps it down, eyes on the ground, shoulders hunched.

It has been almost 6 weeks of this since Jane came back. If that's what you could call it.

Since red returned in control of her line again.

She is still not back to her usual confident self. She is defensive and uncertain and in a way it is more disconcerting than when she was comatose. But she is slowly improving.

I squeeze her hand to comfort her and lead her to the chair.

 _"_ _Last time"_

Cisco says in my earpiece.

Last test and hopefully the last time Cisco will communicate with me like this, between rooms with one way glass.

She plays with her hands as I attach the electrodes to her head for hopefully the last time. I didn't realize how much Jane fidgeted like Amy when she was nervous. Maybe she is more obvious about it now or maybe I can just see it a little bit clearer than I used too.

She only wants to go home. She has wanted to for weeks now. After this test she can go home. Jane hates hospitals...still.

Over the few weeks since that intense session the alters have only emerged on rare occasions, becoming rarer as time passes. There have been moments in the last few weeks when I thought I saw Katie, just a long contemplating look from across the room like Jane used to give me. But when she speaks there is no Katie anymore.

They were gone now and only Jane was left.

Jane had done most of this on her own, of undoing her own programming. Often the survivor is the best internal deprogrammer of all as they know their inside people and what motivates them, better than anyone else.

And so Amy had gone first, her protective environment wasn't needed anymore. Her as a barrier for Jane was unnecessary. She had wanted to go home and now she was where she belonged. And Jane no longer asked for Jello at lunchtime.

After Madison had revealed everything she remembered, what that they experienced and saw, she just slowly melted away, just a little at a time as Jane began to take over more and more.

The memories had been spilled out like water through a dam. There was no way to push the water back again. So Madison no longer needed to protect the others from the pain and suffering, she no longer needed to hold the floodgates closed with her inhuman strength. She no longer had to hide the truth inside like a deep dark secret. And over the next few weeks, for whatever reason, Katie just never came back. That last time I saw her was one evening when she said goodbye without saying it. She flashed her coy sweet smile as she brushed the hair away from my eyes and whispered a soft thank you. I wasn't sure if she was thanking me for being there for Jane or just for loving them through it all.

And if there were any others they didn't say anything or make themselves known.

Jane's memories were still fragmented and confused sometimes.

She said things for her over those weeks after the shooting were fuzzy pieces of a puzzle that she couldn't quite put together. She had felt lost and at moments she still does.

It was understandable, she had been trapped inside a reality inside an illusion.

Sometimes I would catch her slowly reaching out to touch me. I encouraged the action after she told me she needed to just make sure I was really still there.

So much time had gone by, so much time lost and maybe we should be happy that she couldn't still recall everything yet. Slow was a lot safer.

After that intense session, she had, for almost a week, slept under the bed just like Amy had. But I understood why now. A bed would sometimes remind her of what she had once been strapped too. The place she lay when she was lied too and confused. Forced to see disturbing things from. An object that had aided in taking her control away. Her mind had been split multiple times on a type of bed.

It had taken another full week after that for her to sleep right through the night without waking.

Only in the last few weeks had she eaten her meals without waiting for verbal permission. And been able to move around when she wanted without any fear.

Bass the bright pink bear never left the interview room with Jane after that session. I had ended up taking in to my new room and it sat on the table as a reminder. A reminder of my brief time with a very scared child. Of a traumatized child that needed comfort and care. A child that no longer existed.

She had nothing today in particular to be nervous about. But she was nervous and it was probably from echoes of the past, possibly even from the last few months here, possibly the days with Eliza, the hundreds of tests.

I had been able to hold her hand through most of the tests, and now, lately, it was just me. Eliza was no longer needed.

"It's alright Jane, you will be fine. It's one final scan."

Since Madison had told Eliza everything she remembered, Jane had been the one to go for counseling, to endure the recovery and healing as it was needed. She hated it which was encouraging, some things will never change I guess. And now, weeks later, there had been one last CT scan, one last ECG, and now, finally, one last PET scan.

One _last_ brain scan.

Just to be sure...completely sure.

I smile at her softly, warmly, trying to convey to her that everything will be fine, to ease her nerves. She keeps her eyes down at her feet. I lift her chin so she looks at me and she does for a moment before looking away again.

There are no more sessions. No more talking. And I sense she is grateful for that. But she has come to hate this room and all the memories attached.

"Ready" Cisco tells me indicating I can begin.

I ask the same questions I always ask. Ten questions. Questions that had prompted different alters to come out and speak which correlated to extreme changes on the neuro-imaging. They were just simple questions requiring simple answers. And Jane answered them easily. There are no alters, no switching, no comments out of the blue. It is just Jane.

And when she finishes answering I am removing the electrodes again. This time she doesn't take her eye's off my face, like she might be memorizing it.

And when the last electrode is removed she is out of the chair and heading for the door.

I don't chase after her, I don't need to. I know exactly where she will go. The only safe place for her inside the facility recently has been my room. It became her room in that moment she stood inside the doorway and sighed like the weight of the world had lifted off her shoulders. It was a place no alter had been, a place that hadn't been able to confuse her or scare her. A place that seemed to hold dark memories away while she was conscious. It was also right next to Angela's room.

 _"_ _Maura, It is all Jane. Just Jane."_

I take just a moment and allow the joy to pass over me. I already knew it because they had stopped coming out, but it was important to be sure no other un-named alters still had control over her psyche.

 _It's all Jane._

The feeling is warm on my chest, slightly tingly. Like Vicks Vapor Rub or Deep Heat.

It is relief.

Jane and no-one else.

It feels like for the first time in months my heart beats completely normally again. A calm steady rhythm, it's not to strong and it stays beating only behind my ribs.

"Thank you." I breathe

For the first time in months it also feels like my throat isn't tight from fear, worry, sadness, guilt or anger.

I feel ok again. Not great, not bad, just ok. And I am ok with that. OK feels just perfect.

Red was back. Red was different. Red was whole. Red survived.

* * *

The woman's friend tells her that the challenging struggle the butterfly undergoes to liberate itself from its chrysalis actually forces liquids from deep inside its body cavity out into the tiny capillaries in the butterfly's wings. This process is what causes a butterfly's wings to harden, making them strong enough and healthy enough for their new life of flight. She explained that without the struggle a butterfly experiences in breaking through its own cocoon, there could be no strength in its wings, no flight, and ultimately no life.

Just like the butterflies, we must struggle painfully and exhaustingly to survive, to thrive and to grow. Without a struggle life would not be rewarding or have life in it.

* * *

All the tests showed that everything was the way it should have always been.

And so they were one and there was only Jane left.

I didn't miss the others like I thought I might, because they were all there inside Jane somewhere.

I wouldn't miss them because the parts I loved I would see everyday in some way when I was with Jane. They were all parts of her, they always had been.

After the very last and final debrief with Dr. Cisco Hofstede, who shrugged off my gratitude with what I could only describe as a strong warm hug, I headed back to my room, or rather Jane's room.

As I wander the familiar halls I think of the other patients here I had meet. Others abused and tormented. I can only pray that Cisco is able to help them like he helped Jane. I can only hope one day little Chelsea can leave the safety of her room alone without a guard and one day grow into a regular healthy young woman. And all those that had come and would come, I hoped they would heal completely too. And all those that would not come here, I hoped they would also get the help they needed wherever they were. That they would not be forced into a mental institute to experience more torment and trauma.

When I walk into the room Jane is sitting cross legged on the bed with her head slumped downwards. Angela sits behind her on the bed and rubs her back in soft slow circles with one hand and stroking her hair softly with the other. It is strange to see Jane accept so much comfort. So much touch. But she does accept it, she needs it...and it breaks my heart that she needs it at all.

She was already packed and ready to leave, her bag at the end of the bed. Folded on top is the picture Chelsea drew for her, the one I had liked the most because of the hope it signified. The picture of a dark-haired warrior fighting a blue fire-breathing dragon. Jane wanted to take it with her and no one objected, especially Chelsea who beamed with pride at her picture being chosen. Jane never told me if she was taking it because I liked it or because it meant something to her. It didn't matter.

I move cautiously to sit on the other side of her. I don't want to startle her. Her face is profile to me. I watch as a single silent tear falls down her cheek.

We wouldn't call it post traumatic stress disorder. The name didn't fit. Some might say Jane had been scarred with unnatural fears, but they were completely natural in our minds.

"I'm so broken, Maur." She whispers. Raw emotion causing her voice to waver.

It was not a question, or a thought. It was not a feeling and it certainly didn't require a scientific answer. There was no appropriate response, there never would be.

 _The survivor will be angry at the dehumanization, intentionality, and coldness of what they went through, and quite rightly so. They may rail against the effects in their life now of the experiments and procedures they went through, and need to grieve over loss of body image; loss of trust in people; the sense of betrayal and helplessness that they felt during the procedures._

The aftermath was Jane's current reality.

It was a new reality.

She was so different now.

She no longer cared if she seemed weak. She no longer cared If everyone knew when she was afraid or confused or sad.

She wanted, maybe needed, the people she cared about closer than ever before regardless of how vulnerable she might appear. Appearing immune was no longer a priority like it once had been.

She needed love now. She needed touch. And even after the many weeks of being here and facing reality she needed guidance so she could know for sure what was real and what was not.

We all knew that she would never be the same. She was already so different in so many ways.

This wasn't like what happened with Hoyt.

This wasn't something that just fades away with time.

Just slowly heals.

Just mends.

She was changed.

Like a lot of us change through our lives.

She was forever changed and so suddenly.

And she knew it too.

Every part of her knew it.

Red was different.

So different.

* * *

For the caterpillar to transform into say, a monarch butterfly, it makes a silk pad on the underside of a twig or branch. It uses it's 'cremaster', a hook-covered appendage, to attach to the silk pad by twisting around. Then it sheds it's old skin for the last time revealing the hard skin underneath called the chrysalis. The chrysalis hangs upside down from the cremaster until the butterfly is ready to emerge. The chrysalis starts out soft and skin-like, but gradually hardens to perform a protective shell.

When emerging it's chrysalis, the butterfly uses a liquid sometimes called cocoonase to soften the shell of the chrysalis. And it uses two sharp claws located on the thick joints at the base of it's fore-wing to help it make it's way out.

* * *

When Angela goes away to organize for the car to take us to the airport, Jane doesn't move.

She is not excitable, not bouncy and full of life like she once was.

I used to think nothing would get her to sit still but now I wished she would be constantly agitated again.

But she is also not distant like she had been before that session. She was no longer hiding safely inside herself behind the others.

In that way she is as brave as she always was. She still won't back down, give up. She is maybe stronger than she used to be in a different way.

She did not hide her feelings and refuse help like I expected her too, like she would have once.

Korsak once told Jane, after Hoyt attacked her, that no-one could ever break Jane Rizzoli. He had been wrong. She was broken. For now anyway. But we are all breakable and we can all choose to mend. I knew she was still a fighter and could not be broken forever.

She would never act a victim either. She was a victim but she would never let that define her. Label her. It was a phase she was already passing...with time.

She was a warrior with a sword.

She would fight until she won like she always had.

I put my hand against her cheek and she sighs and leans into it.

I remember the first time since being here that she responded to my touch. It felt like an entire lifetime ago.

I pull her into a tight embrace and she accepts it.

She smells like the 'vanilla and macadamia soap' that Angela brought for her and her dark curls tickle my face as I breathe in the calming heavenly scents. After a few minutes her body relaxes completely and she melts into mine like butter and I wonder for a few seconds if maybe she has fallen asleep against me. She isn't as heavy as the times she did fall asleep in my arms so I suspect she is still awake.

I hold onto her tightly and wish I never had to let her go. I wish there was no chance of her ever being hurt again. I wish I could wrap her in a protective bubble and keep her safe forever.

But life was not fair and the outside world posed a threat to her, to us all, everyday, every breath, every moment.

And I would have to let go eventually.

But eventually she will mend and no longer need us, need me, like she has lately.

I just have to enjoy each precious and peaceful and fulfilling moment as they come.

I am glad she doesn't cry anymore like she did before, even a few weeks ago. When I had hugged her and the memories flooded back to her...or new ones came to the surface. She still cries sometimes but not like she did.

She doesn't sound like her heart had broken into a hundred pieces anymore.

It still hurts my heart to hear the pain inside her escaping bitterly. It still causes anger to coarse my veins even for a moment or two before it passes. It still causes me to hold her as tight as I can without hurting her so she knows I am really real and she is safe.

"You will heal." I whisper into her hair, "And I will be here for you."

She would not ever mend back to the way she had once been. She would be different.

She was changed, she would be changed, forever different.

She was like a broken vase put back together. It _almost_ resembled what it had originally been but there were cracks now, if you looked close enough, it was different. The vase was different than it had been, it could not be or do what it had once done.

It could not hold water like it had before.

* * *

...to be continued...


	21. Chapter 21

This is it guys. Final chapter...

* * *

CHAPTER 21

* * *

But what if...instead of taking the broken pieces of the vase and trying to piece it back together in the exact form it once had been and hoping the cracks will just disappear with wishful thinking...what if, instead, we accepted the vase was broken and used the sharp colorful angular pieces to create something completely new?

A mosaic frame for a mirror. A colorful piece of garden art. Something new and beautiful yet possessing so many of the things it once had...

* * *

METAMORPHOSIS

 _Metamorphosis - (1)The process of transformation from an immature form to a mature form in two or more distinct stages._

 _(2) A change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one._

The transformation from caterpillar to butterfly is amazing. It could be likened to recycling, a plastic bottle is recycled into something new and usable.

Inside the chrysalis, the caterpillars body breaks itself down by releasing enzymes that dissolve all of the tissues, it literally disintegrates. Only the imaginal discs, which are formed before the caterpillar hatches from the egg, one disc formed for each adult body part it will need, are left, unharmed. Essentially the caterpillar digests itself except for the imaginal discs into a sort of soup. The imaginal discs are undifferentiated like stem cells, they can become any type of cell.

The discs then use that protein-rich soup to fuel the rapid cell division required to form the wings, antennae, legs, eyes, genitals and all the other features of an adult butterfly.

To essentially put themselves back together into a completely new shape.

The amount of time taken to transform varies depending on the species.

One study suggests that the butterflies that emerge from the chrysalis may remember what they learned in later stages of their lives as caterpillars.

* * *

None of us are the same forever, we are all always changing, ever changing.

Regardless of if it is through bad things or good things, we are, as individuals, constantly changing. By choice through circumstances. It is remarkably difficult, and sad, to be the same forever.

From the day we are born, we learn and grow and become a little person with a little personality unique to ourself. We develop attitudes and eccentricities. We go through stages and we learn how to deal with things in our own unique ways. Our parents are always the first to notice. They are the first to say 'My little girl is just so stubborn, I don't know where she gets it from', 'my wee man is just so curious about everything', 'Oh my word, He is always the shy one just like his father', 'She adores the attention and will do absolutely anything to get it'.

As we age we become more of ourself. Every experience adds to our being. We develop opinions and ideas, we grow egos, we follow dreams that seem to appear out of somewhere deep inside us, we grow larger physically as well as mentally and some of us in maturity.

Every breath we take, every word we hear, every choice we make,they become a part of us.

We are like the caterpillar that becomes a butterfly. Each of us.

We begin as one thing and we end up something completely different by the end of it all.

But what do we become?

Some of us change for the worse and some the better. Some of us grow in strength of character while others character falls into atrophy. Some become evil in the eyes of others and some become evil in their own eyes. Some become wiser and some use every opportunity to be more than what they imagined. Others still find excuses to forgo common sense.

Some of us develop good mental health while others become an emotion wreak.

But we are who we are because of all the events in our lives, the things we allow to change us, and how we choose to respond.

And hopefully at the end of the day we like what we become, the characters we develop, our strengths as well as our weaknesses. Hopefully we can look in the mirror every day and see the person we know our parents would be proud of.

Hopefully the painting on the canvas will be something we will be proud of, that we can say' I added beauty to that. My color created something wonderful that had a positive effect on others'.

That we emerge from whatever tragedy befalls us with scales as soft as snow and colors as vibrant as a rainbow.

She pulls away and looks at me again, her eyes searching mine hastily. I have become accustomed to this behavior. I watch as the shame comes and passes followed almost immediately by anger and then the flicker of fear which stays for a long moment. I watch her eyebrows draw together and she pulls her lip between her teeth.

"It will be ok?" She asks finally.

Her breath smells like coffee and cinnamon. And her hands grip my elbows with a deep need for reassurance.

"You will be _better_ than ok."

I promise, because I can. Because I know she will be ok. Because different isn't bad. it's just different. Because there _is_ beauty in the imperfections inside us as well as around us.

Because we can always choose to find the good in the bad.

Because the glass can always be half full.

Because one day she will be stronger and have more life not just because of it, but in spite of it.

And I see a peace settle with her. That gentle peace wash over her softening her completely. Her grip loosens and she relaxes again.

Whatever the outcome, it will be ok, because she _will_ emerge...somehow.

And I know if the despair comes to crush her I will be able to help her because I have fought it before. I will be able to keep the hope alive in her because I know how to find it when things seem hopeless. And when the anger or hate finds a foothold in her heart and tries to destroy her, I can give her the words and the weapons to protect herself...because I emerged from my own fight against it stronger and braver and better.

One day I will tell her of the journey of blue while red was gone.

"Shall we go home?"

And her eyes sparkle in response for a moment.

And she smiles her trademark Jane smile.

* * *

 _DAIRY ENTRY - 21 JAN 2017_

 _Final Entry_

 _472 days ago Jane was taken against her will and mind-controlled creating disassociation by a CIA operative for still unknown reasons._

 _386 days ago Jane was released by him after being held captive for 86 days._

 _344 days ago Jane was placed in professional care after becoming comatose following a shooting incident._

 _312 days ago the multiple personalities in Jane began to emerge that had been created by no-touch torture and deprivation techniques_

 _239 days ago the personalities began to leave until only Jane remained._

 _199 days ago Jane left the facility to begin her new life._

 _I knew from the beginning it wouldn't be a perfect ending. Nor an easy one. I might even have been lucky for just a semi-happy ending. It wasn't a hollywood movie or fairy-tale story. It never would be. Because that would be fantasy._

 _This is reality._

 _Jane's struggle has been longer and harder than most people go through in an entire lifetime. Or several._

 _It has not been easy but she is beginning to fly again and sometimes there are moments when her color glows vibrantly like the moon. She is becoming more beautiful and stronger than those around her who have not fought such a hard fight to survive._

 _She is more interesting than anyone else I know._

 _More perceptive._

 _It is like she feels everything deeper than before. In someways it is wonderful but occasionally I know it is more painful for her. Dealing with a victim was always hard but she never cried about it before._

 _I think I am blessed just to be near her when her colors fly so vibrantly and when there is moments of purple it is brighter than ever before._

 _She is still healing, and she has most definitely changed which was expected._

 _She would even be the first to admit it._

 _Yet she still carries so many attributes of the old Jane._

 _She is still brave, protective and at times long-suffering like Madison._

 _When she asks me if I am ok after she wakes up from a nightmare I think of Maddy._

 _And at times she is still sweet and innocent just like Amy._

 _When she grins cheekily at her mother giving her bunny pancakes instead of destroying them with her knife and fork I think of Amy._

 _She is still loving and completely selfless like Katie._

 _When she hands me a flower and asks what It means and then looks at me with wonder in her eyes as I respond, I think of Katie._

 _Sometimes there is a mix of Jane before and the new Jane._

 _Sometimes she laughs just like she used too but at something she wouldn't laugh at before._

 _Sometimes she puts her hand on mine like she used to before, but now her touch is more intentional, more calculated._

 _Sometimes she rolls her eyes at something like she used too, but then she asks a lot of questions about it._

 _Sometimes she jokes about something I say like she used too, but then she pecks me on the cheek without me having to say anything._

 _We had taken external measures to protect Jane's mind from further intrusion and Jane had accepted it all surprisingly well. Even the practically non existent time watching television together, watching anything really...other than sports._

 _Our weekly night together was mostly just talking. Talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes it was memories that still haunted her. Sometimes it was things she had forgotten._

 _Other times it was discussing the past...before all that happened. Happy memories. We rarely talked about Jet and who he worked for, or why...it didn't matter anymore._

 _But over the last few months Jane began to want to venture out instead of staying inside. She seemed to have a growing passion for nature. I see sparks of creativity coming out from deep inside her. We started with going to gardens and lakes or forests and it grew to weekend trips to different places, anywhere that she hadn't been before. It has been nice to see her step outside her comfort zone, her once safe world. Work is still a priority of hers but it is like she has more life and adventure in her now. I imagine she figures she has nothing to loose, there is nothing to hide from anymore. Life is too short to not enjoy it. And the fears are almost fully gone now._

 _We started a new tradition, once a week we walk in the gardens together, no matter the weather. Just like we had almost everyday back at the facility. Usually in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. Enjoying the breeze or the rain, smelling the scents surrounding us. At peace. With nature._

 _Usually we walk arm in arm and there is no place I would rather be._

 _As always I think back over those months ago and the experiences we both went through, not in a sad way. Every week she stops in front of a patch of forget-me-nots and turns to smile softly at me saying nothing. But nothing needs to be said._

 _I know she remembers. It might be impossible to forget. But it no longer causes her the pain it used too._

 _She has fought her way out of her own cocoon and she beats her vibrant powerful wings with pride and soars and darts above the pain and memories._

 _She remains gentle yet funny._

 _Funny, loving and completely unique._

 _She is mending in an indescribable way._

 _You would have to know her before and after to truly comprehend the changes in her and appreciate them. She is braver than before, more compassionate than before and loves people and life more than anyone I know._

 _She is now more empathetic and understanding of situations the rest of us cannot begin to fathom or comprehend. Even in the latest case she solved, the children just adored her, somehow they trusted her and opened up to her where no-one else had been able to get through to them. They gravitated to her like magnets. And the connection between them was unbreakable._

 _She see's the world from a different perspective and I don't believe she is even aware of it._

 _I love her in more ways than I thought was possible. Now I have really seen her. All the parts of her she used to keep hidden or disguised. I suppose I never truly saw her before. Now...every part of her is more defined, amplified even. I love her happy loving nature despite still sometimes hiding behind her old sarcasm and teasing. I love her strength and passion. Her sacrifices for others that never falters._

 _Jane no longer carries any shame over the actions and behaviors of her alters._

 _She even laughs just a little now when I tell her how absolutely adorable Amy was._

 _I no longer find her sitting in front of a mirror watching her reflection like she did for sometime after coming home._

 _She no longer reaches out to check I am really here._

 _She no longer watches over her shoulder like he might be behind her and about to grab her._

 _She no longer whimpers when she sees a flashing light or cowers when she hears certain sounds._

 _There is no residual suicide or self-destruct programming._

 _There appears at this time to be no lingering triggers. Appendages crossed._

 _And there has been no appearances of any alters or multiples, at all._

 _He no longer seems to have any hold on her whether by memories, dreams, or deep-seated programming that he can somehow still hurt her._

 _Physically there are no scars or marks other than a phosphorescent tattoo, every bruise and cut healed completely. Which in a way is bittersweet. She used to point out her scars like they were her trophies of survival that she wore unwillingly on her flesh. They were markers of her history and journey and each had its own personal story, it's own lesson and its own memories. She would even point to the discoloration on her knee where she crashed her bike when she was 10 and had her first stitches. The mind-control had done the most damage of them all and left nothing on the surface to show what she went through. No reminder that she battled through it and came out the other side alive. Maybe that is why torture is so damaging...because all the scars and gaping wounds are on the inside and only the victim can feel the pain and know if they have healed. There is no proof of her suffering._

 _Regardless, she seems to be truly free and treats every moment as if it is a gift. And nothing in the world makes me happier than that._

 _Her journey affected my journey and changed me as well._

 _Once she asked me what it had all cost me. I never responded. I couldn't. Jet had used the same words..."If you want to keep her, it will cost you everything you have."_

 _The definition of cost is an amount that has to be paid or given up in order to get something._

 _I couldn't quantify what the costs really were._

 _I didn't lose Jane so in a way It cost nothing I would consider valuable. The lost time and everything else would never compare to the value of her life and her friendship. Physically, I was older and wiser. I changed, I think, into something better. So in a way I gained everything._

 _The cost to Jane was enormous. In that way her cost, her fears and losses feels like mine._

 _It cost me nothing and everything._

 _If she meant financially it would only be because she would want to repay me somehow._

 _I have learned so much about the world, about myself, and the people around me from watching the recovery of my best friend. Although I would still take away everything that happened to her in a heartbeat and learn nothing if it was at all possible, so she never had to suffer in the first place. I would still give up meeting her and everything that followed if it would have prevented what she was forced to go through. But life is not like that. I am sure we all wish we had a time machine sometimes. But you cannot change the past. And if you somehow changed the past who knows what you would become or where you would be, the lines on the canvas that wouldn't be affected by you or the ones you might never have touched otherwise. Who knows what the canvas might look like with one tiny incremental alteration. Could it even be more beautiful?_

 _If Jane and I had never met then there would never be any purple. There might have been green or orange but never any purple._

 _But, I can only move forward as we all have too one way or another with what I have and what I know._

 _And I know Jane would want me to walk forwards happily._

 _On my own journey of transformation I have learned to let go of so many things, things I once thought were important and mattered, things in which I misguidedly placed value, things that once I would never have given up. I have learned that knowledge is power and in the hands of evil men knowledge is corrupted to harm others. I have learned that what I know is not nearly as important as how much I care for others. I have learned that time is not as important as love. And to forgive is entirely for yourself, to forgive is to live._

 _My perspective has changed maybe as much as Jane's has. I move on because life is to short and too valuable to waste fighting against things I cannot change, and even if I could effect change it would not achieve my new priorities. I would rather spend my time loving what I have instead of hating what I lost. To walk forwards into the future._

 _Before all this happened, Jane once told me to let God be my vindicator. She believed that there will be a penalty for those who sin and harm others one day and it is in someone else's hands. Someone more fit to determine the punishments than any human could. Someone who would not be bias and had a true scale on what is or is not fair and just. Someone who set the moral boundaries in the first place. She still believes that even now, even after everything she has been through and I truly still hope she is right. I think that might be how she moves on from the unfairness of life. From the hand she has been dealt. She said mans's justice never compensated the victim anyway. I think I might have subconsciously left it in her God's hands as well because I have never gone back to the sadness or the hate I once felt. I don't look at Jane and fume with the injustices anymore. It has no longer been able to turn my heart to bitterness again. I choose instead to see the goodness in this somewhat messed up world and trust that it is in someone else's hands._

 _We spend just as much time together as before any of this happened, maybe even more, but our time together is now fuller and richer. Small issues no longer bother us, we don't have little fights over who will drive and how messy one of us is and everything we do together has more...well I suppose the word would be purpose. Or maybe it's just me that thinks that things are more fulfilling. I think maybe it's because I am so aware how fragile life is, how one small thing can turn everything else upside down. And how blessed we both are to have survived this, both in our own ways, and come out the other-side different yet better._

 _Maybe I should thank God for that like Jane does. To trust that anything that happens is for a reason and in hands other than mine, hands that know everything and made everything. To trust someone else doesn't make me powerless, just safer in my own mind._

 _Trust in something bigger than myself._

 _I mean...what do I really know and understand anyway. Everything I once knew was useless when I needed it or just plain wrong. I was clinging to preconceptions and beliefs that I had been taught._

 _I now know that there is always something good that will come out of what we go through even when we can't see it straightaway or sometimes we can never see the effects, ever, but it is there. Maybe not within ourselves but in those around us._

 _Every action changes something or someone in small or large ways._

 _Or minuscule ways leading to monumental ways._

 _Something changes on the canvas somewhere._

 _That is the butterfly effect...the discovery that initial conditions can have disproportionately large effects over time...that the beating of a butterflies wings in South America can affect the weather in Central Park._

 _If that is truth then the affect of one act of kindness that allows for another and yet another, linking all of us in ways we never imagined. If we could tabulate the ramifications, they would be as startling as that of the butterfly effect. Even a small act of consideration may reverberate beyond anything we might imagine._

 _That our one single paint color on the canvas crossing others people's colors that in turn crosses other lines again and again on that one single canvas will finally create a finished work of art none of us can see from where we stand today. And one day when we can stand back and see the finished work we will be able to see the effect that our one line of color had on the world. And in turn their lines on other lines. Loops and spirals weaving beautifully, uncontrollably._

 _The good effects as well as the bad. How our actions effected those around us and how their actions affected us._

 _We will see the big picture._

 _We will see our individual butterfly effect._

 _How our beating wings impacted the world._

 _What our one line of color did._

 _Some of us will blame someone or something else for our own line, our own choices. It is easier to make others responsible for our choices and actions, the outcomes in our lives, the direction our paint runs. One day the will look at the canvas and say 'that wasn't my fault'. But if they do not accept they bad then they would also be unable to say 'look what I did to help that person. Look what I did there. That beautiful picture I helped make.'_

 _When we blame others we give our power away, we become victims in life. It was never in Jane's nature to be a victim._

 _We have to accept that we alone decide how we live, what we do and when. We alone choose our path, our thoughts, our responses to what happens around us._

 _And I hope when I will again be able to stand back and see my line, my color, it will have added only good to life, had a good affect somewhere, everywhere. I hope my legacy is in a beautiful piece of art that will stand out as a testament to my life and my character._

 _I already know that the red will continue to be remarkable, and continue to have a wonderful effect on all the other lines all around her, as she always has._

 _I know that red does that for blue._

 _I am sure there are many other Jane's out there in the world. People just like her. Caring, self-less, strong, giving, funny. The people around them may not even see them but they are there. But only one Jane has changed my world. And only one was I so blessed to have met, to have in my life. Always._

 _I know red remains red despite that the line was disrupted for so long. Despite the forever changed canvas because of it._

 _I have known since I was very young that that there are hundreds of shades of purple with wonderful names like violet, lilac, wisteria, magenta, lavender, amethyst, fuchsia, aubergine, grape, mulberry, mauve...and so on..._

 _But what I know for sure now is that, together, red and blue together will always make purple._

 _And purple is beautiful despite the journey it has been forced to take._

 _So what can we take away from all this?_

 _Perhaps that it is the small acts of empathy that spin the web that holds everything together..._

 _...that kindness and thoughtfulness no matter how small that are still the motions of lines of paint on a much larger canvas..._

 _...that our choices, our actions, adjusted by even one quarter of a degree a will change the entire course of direction for us and many others..._

 _...that what we do in every moment, everyday, is more important than what we do once in awhile._

 _That what we do matters._

* * *

 _THE END_

* * *

Thank you everyone so much for your support and comments, you have kept this story going and helped form it into what it became. Please let me know if this end is acceptable to you.

Writing this has been absolutely massive for me and a lot of real emotions went into this. I still struggle with anger in my life at things around me that ultimately affect my life in what I still deem to be unjust and unfair ways. The wrong of selfish actions of others around me that alter the course of my life, the direction of my line. But I have learned to move on and not live in what 'should have been'. To forgive them because they (hopefully) didn't do it intentionally. And most likely did not know, or care, about the result of their choices, their anger and their selfishness. And for me to still know that I choose my response and my response determines the road I take in life and the characters I will build in myself. Writing this in part helped me let go of the emotions that threatened to change me. The emotions that really did make my heart pound and my blood boil and at times I wondered if at the end of it all I would be the same person I was before. I am not. But I did not let my heart go hard with bitterness. I believe I am better because of my journey. I hope that part of my life, my journey, is over. I have learned from it and I wouldn't take that part back.

And I still struggle with anger at times at what goes on in the world behind closed doors or in plain sight. The injustice of starvation, occupation and war, the banking system and the justice system as well as politics. The hundreds of people that underwent experimentation for things like weapons testing and mind-control...I honestly can only leave it with God because no punishment on earth would suffice.

I find that when I look at the things I personally battle they seem so minor compared to the problems of the world. And I do hope when I look back on my life I can see the affect my choices have made and that they have somehow helped people not harmed them.

I think that sort of knowledge and understanding is power. That I can change so many things for the better somewhere. I control where I go by what I do...and that affects other people too.


End file.
